Same As It Ever Was
by Robot from the future
Summary: Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione Granger isn't sure where her life is going any more. The only thing she is certain of is that she wants nothing to do with a certain red-headed ex of hers. But with the Ministry issuing a new marriage law and threats of a new dark uprising emerging, how long will she be able to avoid him for? Epilogue Compliant Marriage Law
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters mentioned in this story. They all belong to the Queen JK.**

 **Thanks to the fantastic Kabg01 for the excellent job she's done of beta-ing this chapter.**

* * *

Hermione Jean Granger, sole female member of the golden trio and brightest witch of her age, struggled to open her eyes. The hammering inside her head made the weak winter light shining through the curtains feel like it was stabbing her in the retinas. She endeavoured to move but a wave of nausea told her it was better to stay still. As she attempted to peel her tongue from the roof of her mouth she tried to remember how much she had had to drink the night before. At the recollection of shots from a bottle George Weasley had refused to show her the label of, the bile rose higher and she thought it was best to stop.

"Accio Pepper Up" she groaned, holding her hand up to catch the phial while her eyes remained closed.

"Make that two," a familiar voice rumbled from under the covers next to her as she swallowed it with a grimace. She sat up in horror, hangover momentarily forgotten as her eyes shot open and the steam from the potion billowed out of her ears. She couldn't even remember coming home, let alone bringing someone with her. So why were there Chudley Cannons boxer shorts hanging off her bedpost?

Quickly she racked her brains. She remembered shots, dancing to the Weird Sisters, oh – there had been unattractive crying about something, dying alone maybe? Then the countdown to midnight and kissing, but who?

"Hurry up, I'm dying here," the voice moaned. Hermione gasped, her hand going to her mouth as a lightning bolt of realisation darted through her. You don't hear the voice of someone every day of your formative years without remembering it. A silver blonde head emerged from under the quilt. Draco Malfoy. She had brought home, of all the people in Diagon Alley the night before - let alone the world - Draco Malfoy. Brown eyes met pale grey for a moment, then with surprising agility she leapt out of bed and made it to the toilet in time to vomit.

After she finally managed to get her head out the toilet she decided to shower in the hope that he would be gone by the time she got out. Mortification made her toes curl as she attempted to remember what the hell happened to her that she ended up in bed with Malfoy. As the water washed over her, she inspected her body for any evidence of what might have happened but none was immediately apparent. That was something at least. The thought of facing her colleagues, or worse, Molly with a whacking great hickey on her neck was just too much. As the jets pouring over her started to clear away the cobwebs, horrifying flashes of the night before starting to come back to her. Dancing on the table in the leaky cauldron and banging her head on a chandelier (rubbing the sore spot on her scalp confirmed that), crying loudly, spilling butter beer all over her robes, and worst of all, she now remembered it had most definitely been her who had enthusiastically and shamelessly come on to the blonde haired slytherin ferret that she hoped was right at that moment vacating her property.

Of course, she now remembered what had caused it. She had caught sight of him. He who, nobody better damn well dare speak his name while I'm around. Dancing with a woman without a care in the world. He hadn't seen her, thank Merlin for small mercies. That was what had encouraged her plonk herself in Oliver Wood's lap and challenge the entire Puddlemere United qudditch team to a drinking game.

Cringing inwardly she shut off the shower and wrapped a towel round herself. She tiptoed back to the bedroom, fingers tightly crossed that Malfoy would be gone but of course he was not. There he was, sprawled out face down on her bed. Completely butt naked.

"Stop looking at my arse Granger" he drawled, his words muffled by the pillow.

"Really, get over yourself Malfoy," she tutted, glad he couldn't see her blush. She grabbed her dressing gown from the hook on the door and wrapped it tightly around herself. When she turned to face him again he was sitting up under the duvet, grinning and looking, she was annoyed to note, much more alive than she felt.

"Finished doing walrus impressions have you now?" he asked drily, raising an eyebrow. Great, so Malfoy had heard her puking. Could today get any worse?

"Oh….just shut up,"

"Happy new year Granger. Welcome to 2003" he looked positively delighted as he leapt out of bed and started putting his pants back on. She covered her face with her hands.

"Did we….?" She trailed off, unsure how how to word the question that hung between them.

"Wow, a question that little Miss Know It All doesn't know the answer to?" he smirked, "No. sorry, you were gagging for it and frankly I don't blame you, with this" he gestured to his own body in a way that made her roll her eyes in infuriation, "but the passed out thing doesn't really do it for me"

"Oh Merlin!" she groaned, reddening again.

"That's more like it Granger, a bit more of that last night and your luck would have been in"

She folded her arms across her chest, then hurriedly unfolded them when she realised the effect that had on her cleavage and put them on her hips, nervous. Malfoy and she weren't the enemies they once were. The year that they had both returned to Hogwarts to finish their studies had left them somewhere between a truce and friendship. Without Harry and Ron around, and Draco being ignored by the majority of the handful of Slytherins that had returned, their competitiveness in class had intensified into something bordering on mutual respect for each other's intelligence. She had caught glimpses of him when he wasn't being a pampered, snivelling brat and he had learned just how far he could push her without getting another smack in the mouth. They had even exchanged pleasantries when they saw each other in Diagon Alley in the intervening years. This, however, was an unexpected shift in their relationship. What had she been thinking? Was it like McClaggen all over again?

"Stop it," he warned, holding a finger up to her.

"What?"

"Stop….thinking," he waved his arms vaguely in her direction

"I tried that last night and see where that's got us,"

"I think we already established that we didn't get anywhere far. Although if that disgusting robe slips open much further we might be getting somewhere"

Hermione gasped, clutching the hot pink towelling more tightly around herself. Malfoy's grin made her clench her teeth in fury. It was only then that she noticed his forearm. The skin was red raw, shiny and puckered, as though it had been peeled off. She couldn't stop a sharp intake of breath at the former site of the dark mark. Without thinking, she reached her hand out for his arm but he shook her off and started to throw his robes on.

"Draco," she whispered, horrorstruck. For a moment his eyes flashed silver at her, his face furious. Then it was gone, covered up just like the mark on his arm as the dark fabric of his sleeve slid over it.

"Forget you ever saw it," he smiled, although his tone suggested a finality that his easy expression did not. He clapped his hands together, "now Granger, one thing I remember with absolute certainty from last night was that you said that if I came home with you there would be brunch. A brunch, the like of which, I had never seen,"

"Did I?" she squinted, trying to recall,

"Well possibly, your speech was a bit garbled, I imagine it is hard to get the words round those gnashers of yours at the best of times, let alone when you're paralytic. Still, you can't deny that brunch would be an excellent idea can you?"

Hermione, incensed by his needling, was about to deny it but as she opened her mouth, a rumble in her stomach betrayed her. Draco smiled triumphantly, gesturing to her midriff.

"There you go. Now put on one of those ill-fitting sacks you call robes, draw a brush, or a rake, or _whatever_ through that," he pointed distastefully to her hair, "and we'll go. I'll wait downstairs if you like," and before she had a chance to tell him to bugger off, he had strode from her bedroom, hands in pockets, thoroughly emanating the air of someone who had won an argument.

She stared at the door for a moment, open mouthed before deciding that as much as she hated the idea of doing anything he told her, she would get dressed just so she could go downstairs and give him a piece of her mind. After having thrown her clothes on and brushed her hair back into a loose ponytail (the best she could do under the circumstances) she stormed after him. Draco was waiting in the living room of her small Victorian terrace, surveying the book shelves that took up the entirety of one wall.

He held up a finger as she opened her mouth to speak "hold that thought," he smirked, grabbed her arm and apparated them both away.

oOoOoOo

Hermione gazed around at the small wizarding café that Draco had apparated them to, grudgingly impressed. It had taken her a moment on landing to make sure that Draco hadn't kidnapped her, and check herself thoroughly for splinching but she was too charmed by the thatched roof building in the middle of rolling meadows, to scold him too harshly. If she was suspicious that the owner had charmed the stream to bubble prettily below the window or the flowers to grow in quite such abundance, she didn't say. Draco had insisted that she paid to make up for the night before and they had sat and eaten an enjoyable breakfast, or as enjoyable as a meal with your long term enemy that you accidentally kissed the night before can be. Bested by the volume of food, Hermione placed her knife and fork down on the remains of her French Toast. Draco had eaten an astonishing amount for one so slender but was evidently also full, as he had started questioning her on why she was spending new year kissing the man that Witch Weekly magazine had voted fifth most eligible bachelor, rather than the second prize winner.

"I thought everything was hunky dory between you and the Weasel?" he asked, as he mopped up the last of his egg with a corner of toast, "I was certain I was going to see an announcement in the Prophet that you and him were going to be setting up house and hovel together after I saw him coming out of Twilight and Twinkles a couple of years ago but then instead I read that you'd split up and we both know what happened next - the Ron Weasley revolving woman show. Seriously, how does he go through them so quickly? What do they even see in him? He even stole a girlfriend off me. Me! And second most eligible bachelor?" Draco looked affronted for a moment before he had noticed Hermione had turned a greenish colour, "Granger, are you ok? We aren't going to see a return of the walrus are we?"

"You saw him where?" Twilight and Twinkles was a small shop in Diagon Alley with a reputation as the only shop that a respectable wizard would buy an engagement ring. Draco seemed to sit up straighter, as though he was relishing the role of gossip,

"I saw him coming out, putting a small box in his pocket, no less! I was sure that was it for you, doomed to be popping out ginger….what's a baby weasel called?"

Hermione rolled her eyes but the swot in her couldn't stop herself muttering that a baby weasel is called a kit.

"Hm, that's quite cute. Well, I thought you'd be pushing out baby Weasels forever more. But next thing I saw in Rita Skeeter's column that you had split and then after I saw him at the war survivors benefit a few months later all over Lavender Brown like a case of Dragon Pox and -"

"Don't, don't" Hermione cut him off. She knew the rest. She doubted that she would even forget the way she felt at the sight of Ron with his hands all over her former rival. Even now tears were pricking at her eyes, "Just….don't," She picked at a scuff on the wooden table top until she was sure she was under control of her emotions.

"Go on," Draco's eyes gleamed cunningly, "you tell me what happened or perhaps you would prefer me to fill you in on a few of the things that happened last night that you might have forgotten. Perhaps I should start with how you begged me to come home with you?" He rolled his eyes and let his mouth hang slack "Oh Draco, Draco, pleeeeease" he slurred in what Hermione could only imagine was supposed to be an impression of her.

She blushed horribly, embarrassment curling sharply in the pit of her stomach and weighed up exactly how much of her broken heart she was going to have to reveal to stop the torture, "there's nothing to tell. We had irreconcilable differences,"

Draco snorted, "what, that you know everything in the world and he's an idiot?"

"It wasn't like that!" she denied hotly, defensive that Draco had almost word for word quoted something that Ron had said to her, "we had different values, different ideas about our future. We're just two very different people. As friends, with Harry as a buffer, we functioned, sort of. But as a couple…." She trailed off, aware that not only had she not really answered the question, she hadn't been entirely honest. They had worked as a couple beautifully for three years. Then there had been fights that she had been too convinced she was right over, that Ron was over sensitive, and they had both been too stubborn to back down. Things had been said, or in her case, screamed over the smash of potion bottles flung at a wall. Things that were still too raw for her to allow herself to even think about. And even then, she hadn't believed it was over – not really. Not until that final showdown at the war survivors benefit that she had walked away from him knowing that they would never recover their friendship from the tattered, mangled mess they had created.

"I bet it pisses you off, doesn't it," Draco pulled her from her reverie, "that he's become this international playboy, apparating all around the world, being hugely famous and successful,"

"What and me, just mousey little Hermione, still working in the ministry in the same job since I left school? Of course not! I don't know why you would even ask!" her voice was shrill and her hair positively crackled with rage.

"Thought as much," he grinned, rising from his chair and throwing a handful of galleons down on to the table, despite his demand that she bought his meal, "well, it's been fun Granger but I promised my mother I would visit this afternoon and she does so hate to be kept waiting. Fancy dinner at Spagnolio's with me tomorrow night? Say 8 o clock?"

"Why?" the word was out of her mouth before her brain caught up. Why on earth would she want to go to dinner, with Malfoy of all people, to one of the most expensive, celebrity frequented restaurants in Wizarding London?

Draco shrugged as he buttoned up his travelling cloak, a devilish smile playing on his lips "can you think of a better way to get back at Ron?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks so much to everyone who has read, followed, favourited or reviewed this story so far.**

 **Also thanks again to Kabg01 for being my beta.**

Hermione sat back, hands resting on her stomach. Although she told herself every week not to overeat, Molly's Sunday roasts were always too tempting to resist. George and Bill were using their wands to try and levitate peas into each other's mouths. Harry was sat next to her, deep in conversation with Arthur Weasley about how air conditioning worked. Ginny was supposed to be helping Victoire and Teddy eat their lunch but Teddy kept transforming his mouth into a duck's beak, causing Victoire to squeal with delight and Ginny have to work very hard not to giggle.

She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction at the idyllic family scene. She had been so worried when she and Ron had split up that she would lose all of this, that the Weasleys would turn their back on her. She had stopped coming to Sunday lunch at first, even after she started to read reports in the Prophet of Ron being on the other side of the world. Eventually Molly had flooed into her house, dinner plate in hand and told her in no uncertain terms that even if her and Ron never spoke to each other again, Hermione was family, and family meant getting fed, and if that meant that Molly had to deliver her Sunday lunch to her every week then she jolly well would. There had been a lot of tears and hugging and "but I thought you were angry with me" from both sides but with a watery smile, Hermione had accompanied Molly back to the Burrow and had attended Sunday lunch ever since. Ron never attended and if his name was ever mentioned, the conversation was changed quickly enough that Hermione never heard anything of consequence. Molly had even taken to throwing a cloak over the Weasley family clock when she visited which Hermione appreciated, although a small part of her was dying with curiosity to see where he was. She knew that it couldn't last forever and that she would have to see him at Ginny and Harry's wedding or at an event that the golden trio would be expected to make an appearance at, but she appreciated everyone's attempt to prolong that day as much as possible.

Sensing that everyone had finished their meal, Hermione, eager to show Mrs Weasley her gratitude, waved her wand over the plates to send them gently towards the kitchen. As she stood up to follow them, Ginny smiled and offered to help with a glint in her eye that filled Hermione with trepidation.

They were barely in the kitchen before Ginny grasped Hermione by the wrist, causing her wand to twist and all the plates to land in the sink slightly less gracefully than she had intended.

"We've got about thirty seconds before mum comes in to help so by Merlin you had better talk fast. What is this I've heard about you dating a certain blonde haired Slytherin?"

"What have you heard?" Hermione asked cautiously, unwilling to say any more than she had to on the subject.

"So it is true!" Ginny exclaimed "Jennetta Greenway, the Keeper for the Holyhead Harpies, said she'd seen you two having drinks in the Hag and Hippogriff last week but I didn't believe her,"

"I have been out with Draco a few times, yes"

"Draco now is it?" Ginny teased, "not ferret, or the blonde git, or whatever else you used to call him at Hogwarts?"

"He used to call me a lot worse!" Hermione snapped, "But he has apologised for being such an idiot at school. And I think I believe him,"

"So what is it, just drinks, or drinks and snogging, or drinks and a betrothal announcement in The Prophet any day now? Have you let him Slytherin to your bed yet?" she snorted at her own joke, rather unattractively, Hermione noted smugly.

"We've been on a few dates, that's all," at Ginny's sceptical glance she amended, blushing, "and a bit of snogging yes. But I still haven't decided that he's definitely not an arse and I think I irritate him no end. I don't even know why he keeps asking me out. Even if he didn't spend his entire adolescence hating me, I made a right prat of myself at New Year,"

"New Year?" That was over a month ago! I wondered where you'd gone. How could not tell me about it before?"

"Shhhhh," Hermione urged, "You can't tell anyone. Not even Harry,"

"Wow, Hermione and Malfoy on a broom, when are they going to get a room?" Ginny sang in a hushed tone before Mrs Weasley bustled into the room, flicking her wand decisively towards the sink as a jet of soapy water issued from it.

"So are you seeing him again?" Ginny whispered once she was sure that her mother was paying them no mind.

Hermione looked over her shoulder to check no one was listening before whispering back, "yes, he's taking me out tonight actually. We're going to that new cocktail bar, you know, the one that's done out like a potions lab," this kind of girl talk made her giggly in a way she hadn't felt since school. Ginny looked suitably impressed.

"Oooh, I've heard good things about there. I have a friend Emilia who is on the England Quidditch team and she went to the grand opening. She said it was amazing. But stay away from the draught of living death shooters – apparently she had three and woke up with a golden snitch tattooed on her –"

"Ginny," interrupted Molly, who still had an unnerving knack for catching out those slacking at housework, "could you polish these candle sticks for me?"

"Yes mum," Ginny sighed, rolling her eyes at Hermione and taking the heavy silver candelabras from her mother. As they both sat at the table and Hermione summoned a tin of Madame Glossy's silver polish and a couple of cloths, Ginny barked out a sharp laugh.

"What?" Hermione demanded. Ginny at least had the good grace to look slightly guilty,

"If you and Malfoy decide you are a couple, please let me be the one to tell Ron!"

oOoOoOo

While Draco perused the cocktail menu, Hermione took in her surroundings. Ginny was right, this place was seriously cool. They were seated in a black velvet booth with what looked like one of the stained, scorched benches from the potions classroom in the dungeon at Hogwarts in front of them. A small magical fire crackled at the table but as Draco had demonstrated by sticking his hand in it, it gave off no heat. Rows and rows of what looked like potions bottles lined the walls but she had found out after their first drink that they actually contained delicious cocktail ingredients. She had worried the fringed black cocktail dress that Ginny had talked her into wearing would have been too much but she was now glad she had taken her friend's advice.

"What do you fancy," he asked, "other than me, of course,"

"Anything but polyjuice," she said with a grimace, "I don't think I could even risk a cocktail named after that vile stuff. Perhaps a felix felicis,"

The waiter, a young wizard in deep purple velvet robes approached their table, "can I get you two anything?"

Draco winked at Hermione as he shut the menu, "the lady will have an Amortentia,"

Hermione's mouth popped open in indignation, "and the _gentleman_ will have a veritaserum," she countered.

The waiter smiled and pointed his wand at a copy of the menu he was carrying. Immediately two cauldrons flew over from behind the bar onto the fire and a number of different bottles followed, emptying their contents into the cauldrons. The wizard stirred the cauldrons with a flick of his wand before decanting the contents into two glass goblets. Hermione's was a deep pink colour, which the wizard garnished with a twist of orange peel that he seemed to have magicked from nowhere and then he accioed an olive into the clear liquid in Draco's glass. As he melted discreetly away, Draco chinked her glass with his,

"You know this isn't really amortentia, don't you?" Hermione asked as she took a sip from the sweet smelling drink. It was heavenly.

Draco threw his arms along the back of the seat, his pureblood features set smugly, "as if I need to give you a love potion," he smirked, "just look at me. Oh don't turn your nose up Granger, a snout doesn't suit you,"

Hermione just smiled and sipped her drink, which seemed to pique Draco's curiosity immediately, "what?" he demanded, with just a hint of the school boy who was always moments away from complaining that his father would hear about this.

"I've realised something. You keep insulting me, and I keep biting. That's what makes it so fun for you. So I'm just going to ignore you when you behave badly, like I'm training a dog,"

Draco's eyebrows rose dangerously, "did you just compare me to a dog?" Hermione couldn't help but giggle. Draco humphed, disgruntled and sat back, drinking his cocktail for a moment,

"My mother had a crup once,"

Hermione was intrigued. Draco very rarely talked about his family.

"It was nice as pie to most people but it kept biting my father,"

"And people say crups are stupid," Hermione couldn't help herself.

"My mother said my father antagonised it but she could never catch him doing anything. He said it was just something wrong with its nature, that it was a vicious little bugger,"

"So?"

Draco just looked pointedly at her over the rim of his goblet. Only her recent proclamation that she would not react to Draco's taunts kept Hermione's voice from raising more than a single octave, "Did you just compare me to a crup?"

"You compared me to a dog," Draco justified.

"So what did your father do?"

He looked surprised for a moment, "Are you expecting me to say he killed it or something?" Hermione didn't dare say that was exactly what she had been expecting, "no one was sadder than my father when it died," when Hermione just stared at him blankly he sat forward, gesticulating with his arms between the two of them "the point is Granger, sometimes that's just the way two people go together best,"

"I'll never understand you Malfoy," Hermione sighed.

"And that's just the way you like me," he grinned, leaning in towards her. He touched his lips to hers, just for a moment, just brushed his against hers achingly gently before whispering against her mouth, "Back to mine?"

"And why would I want to do a thing like that?" she smiled into him. Even if she hadn't been enjoying his company more than she knew she should, the thought of seeing where Draco lived was too tempting to seriously consider turning down, no matter how much she might put up a pretence of protestation.

"Well, I think that in the case of good behaviour, there is meant to be some sort of reward, to encourage it. And I haven't insulted you for a good five minutes,"

"What about when you compared me to a crup?"

"Oh shut up," he laughed, crashing his lips to hers and winding his hands into her hair.

After a moment or two, he pulled away, and threw a handful of coins onto the table before crushing her into his chest and apparating them away.

When they landed, he kissed her so hard that she felt like she was still spinning endlessly in the vortex of apparition.

It was hot and messy, their mouths crashing together. Her hands were in his hair and his were everywhere and oh Merlin it felt good. Hermione felt a fire that she thought Ron had doused with cold water and stamped on the ashes of, start to kindle in the pit of her belly. Without breaking the kiss, Draco started walking her backwards, his fingers fumbling with the zip on her dress as he did. Just as she was pulling open the buttons of his cloak with trembling fingers, her heel connected with something solid and she felt something behind her wobble and heard the smashing of glass as something fell to the floor. They pulled away from each other and Draco started fussing over the potions bench she had just knocked. He cursed softly, as he inspected the potion he was evidently brewing and he waved his wand carelessly to vanish away the broken glass.

"What are you brewing?" she asked curiously. She had never seen a potion like this before. Instead of a cauldron, the oily black liquid was bubbling gently inside a dragon's eggshell over a low flame, "Isnt that…"

"Dragora," he finished for her, sighing as he recognised that Hermione's attention had shifted entirely to academic pursuits.

"But that's horribly dangerous," she scolded, in a tone that she tried to reserve for the most hair brained of Harry and Ron's schemes.

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Draco rolled his eyes, "Or at least it would be dangerous, if I could get the blasted thing right. It's supposed to brew in here for thirty days but either the egg cracks or the potion solidifies well before the time," she noticed the fine line that was forming down the side of the shell. He threw himself despondently down onto his dragon hide sofa and Hermione sat next to him, taking in the dark grey walls, the luxurious rug, the shelves of leather bound books that her fingers itched to touch. As quickly as desire had overtaken them, it seemed to have blown itself out.

For once, she managed to hold herself back from giving her scholarly opinion over how to improve the potion, not sure she wanted any part of making such a dangerous draught, "Is it for….?" She trailed off and touched his arm gently, remembering the horrific scar where his dark mark had been.

"No," Draco's mouth was a grim line, "It only works on curse damage. The dark mark isn't removable by magic. That bastard made sure of that. Didn't stop Marcus Flint trying though,"

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. She had seen the vaguely worded article in the Prophet, she remembered now, but wanted Draco to confirm her suspicions

Draco stared at his hands, twisting together in his lap "He died,"

"Then how did you get rid of it?" She wasn't sure she wanted the answer but had to ask anyway.

"I tried to do it myself," his voice cracked slightly, his fingers twisted faster, "but I couldn't. So my mother instructed the house elves to hold me down, and…and"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,"

"No, I do. My mother – I begged her to do it – my mother took a silver knife. Voldemort didn't think, you see, he never considered non magical means. So she cut it out," once he had said it his hands stilled and at last he met Hermione's eyes.

"Did she at least stun you or give you a pain killing potion beforehand?" she knew that they would have no idea about muggle anaesthetics and even if they had, would almost certainly not trust them enough to use them.

"We didn't dare. We didn't dare use magic," his head shook from side to side almost imperceptibly before he cleared his throat gruffly, "No," he continued "this potion is for my father. After the war, Rodolphus Lestrange caught up with him - he managed to sneak into Malfoy Manor. Said he blamed him for Bellatrix being killed. Called him a traitor. There was a duel. There were unforgivables flying everywhere. My mother pulled me into the wizard's hole," Hermione knew from her reading of Hogwarts, a History that many of the older, grander Wizarding residences had a wizard's hole fitted, in case they had wanted to hide magical artefacts or young children who may not be able to control their magic when witch hunters came calling, "but I could see through a gap in the stone. My father cast a crucio at the same time as Rodolphus cast an avada. They sort of met in the middle then the whole thing rebounded and hit my father in the head. He just crumpled to the floor and Rodolphus ran off. He regained consciousness, of a sort. I mean, he's alive, physically. He can walk and eat and get himself dressed if he has help. But nothing's there," he tapped his fingers against the sleek blonde hair at his temple to emphasise the point, "nothing's there when he's awake anyway. But when he's asleep he screams and cries and babbles like, well, like people I've seen be crucioed". A slight flush came to his cheeks and he couldn't meet her eye. She realised he was remembering her having the curse inflicted on her by his aunt.

"I don't expect it will return him to normal, I just want the pain to stop," he finished sadly.

Hermione wanted to put her hands over her ears. Feeling sympathy for Draco was one thing – he had been just a boy. But she did not want to feel pity for the man who had stood by and watched her being tortured. Her muscles tensed at the memory of the curse and she tried to block the recollection of Lucius Malfoy's smug sneer as she had lost control of her bladder under the influence of the crucio.

They both just sat in silence for how long Hermione did not know, side by side, each overcome by their own personal hell.

"it's late," she mumbled at last, standing up to leave.

"Don't go,"

Hermione looked into his eyes. The sly bravado that was normally dancing there was absent. He looked like the very first time she had ever seen him, coming out of Harry and Ron's carriage on the Hogwarts Express – just like a sad little boy.

She did end up staying over but they slept side by side, her in a borrowed pair of his pajamas, as chastely as children. She awoke early and gazed over at him for a moment, his pale eyelashes resting on his cheek, before gathering up her clothes silently and making for the fireplace. She had to get out of there, she couldn't lie and watch him sleep, not after the night before, not if she wanted to keep guarding her heart against him. Later that day a flurried knocking alerted her to a snow white owl trying valiantly to peck at her window, whilst carrying an enormous bunch of roses. She let him in and tried to avoid his vicious beak as she untied the bundle before scribbling a quick note on a scrap of parchment – _I_ _'_ _ll help you with the potion_ \- attaching it to the owl's leg and sending him on his way before she could think too much about it.


	3. Chapter 3

**I don't own any of the characters in this story they are all the property of JK Rowling.**

 **This was beta-ed by Kabg01 massive thanks to her.**

 **I'm nervous about posting this chapter I won't deny. This is already my most followed fic thanks if you've read or reviewed it.**

Hermione glanced absently at the clock above her desk at the ministry. 11:40, nearly lunch time. It was unlike the studious brunette to wish the day away rather than being engrossed in her work but there seemed to be something in the air today, an odd atmosphere that was leaving her unable to settle. Perhaps it was the unexpected resignation of deputy head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department that had thrown her – as a fellow woman and muggle born, Hermione had always looked up to her. Or perhaps it was the flurry of owl messages she had received that morning from Draco that were somehow suggestive and insulting at the same time. Nearly a month had passed since she had stayed over at his flat but they hadn't talked about his family or his scar again. She wasn't ready for any more of that Draco - the vulnerable, open Draco that posed a real danger to her heart. She needed him to be Malfoy again. To reassure her that it was all just fun and games and an intriguing bit of verbal sparring. As if he sensed that, he had been making the effort to be more crude than normal in his correspondence.

Then again, a couple of senior colleagues from other departments had thrown her glances as she had walked past them in the corridor that had made her feel that she was in trouble for some reason. So when what looked to be a hurriedly folded interdepartmental memo zoomed crookedly onto her desk, bearing the words 'Hermione Granger Private and Confidential' in Arthur Weasley's hand, the ink slightly smudged as though he had been in too much of a rush to let it dry properly, she was almost unsurprised. She smoothed the parchment out on the desk in front of her

"Hermione, come to the Burrow immediately. URGENT. Do not wait. AW"

Her heart was immediately in her mouth as her mind ran over a hundred scenarios that she only usually acknowledged to her therapist – loved ones captured or dead, Voldemort returned, another dark uprising. With shaking hands she packed up her work and waved her wand to lock it in her desk drawer. She popped her head into the office of Amos Diggory, the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, attempting to swallow away the lump in her throat.

"Mr Diggory, I need to leave right now. I'm so sorry, I've not got any meetings and I'll make the time up but it's a family emergency,"

Amos looked up from his work, his face grave, "Please, go. Don't worry about making the time up, you haven't used your annual leave for the past two years, I'll get in trouble with personnel if you don't start taking some time off. In fact, why not take tomorrow off too?" the pleading edge to his voice made Hermione wonder just how much trouble he had got from the stern faced witch in human resources for the fact that she didn't take any time off. She forced a thin lipped smile, the back of her mind nagging at her that this emergency might take longer than one afternoon to resolve. Nodding and thanking him she turned on her heel and headed for the floo portals.

When she flooed into the burrow, half the order seemed to be there, all talking at once. They were all gathered round the kitchen table, shouting at a piece of parchment. However, at the noise of her entry they all turned to look at her with identical expressions, that of one who has to pass over a piece of unimaginably bad news.

She gripped the edge of a chair, the worn wooden back the only thing stopping her legs shaking.

"Who's died?" she asked quickly before her throat would threaten to close up in panic.

"No one, no one, Hermione dear," Mrs Weasley bustled over and, putting her arm around her, guided her into the chair, "Would you like a cup of tea? Honestly," she reassured her, "everyone is fine. We've just had a bit of a shock is all,"

Arthur stepped forward sheepishly, the offending parchment clutched in his hand. Everyone was still looking at her, giving her the sinking feeling that whatever this was, it was going to be a very personal tragedy.

"I uncovered this at work today, it flew into my office by mistake. The news is likely to go public in the next day or two but we need to act now. I sneaked it out under my robes," he looked guilty as she snatched the parchment from him.

Memo

To: Aurelius Hazeldene, Head of the Betrothals and Marriages Office

From: Kingsley Shacklebolt Minister for Magic

Sensitivity: Confidential

Re: NEW MARRIAGE LAW PROPOSAL

Aurelius,

I received your white parchment on the above subject for consideration prior to a vote at the upcoming Wizengamot. I must say I am surprised at the short notice you have given for this and would appreciate a meeting at 2pm this afternoon in my office to discuss the implications of and motivations behind this proposal. I have read the parchment which may have to go through a Plain English exercise prior to it being circulated tomorrow due to its use of confusing language and have summarised what I think to be the key points below. If any of my assumptions are incorrect, please could you let me know prior to our meeting:

Since the first wizarding war there has been a constant decline in children being born. The effects of this have been seen most sharply since the second war and this must be reversed in order to repopulate the wizarding world.

Latest research shows that pureblood families' magic is becoming less powerful, there has been a rise in the number of squibs as well as reported cases of mental instability. This has not been reported in mixed blood families and muggle borns seem free of these afflictions.

Therefore a controlled injection of muggle blood is deemed necessary to reduce this

Enforced mixed blood marriages will reduce the likelihood of future wizarding wars

It is proposed that all non-betrothed muggle born witches under the age of 25 will be paired by the newly formed repopulation department of the Betrothals and Marriages Office with a pure blooded wizard under the age of 30 years old.

It will initially be non-compulsory for pure blooded males to put themselves forward. However, should insufficient numbers apply, males will have to be conscripted.

Unless both parties agree that they are non-compatible and are deemed to be so by the BaMO, they will be bound by marriage within one year. In the case of all parties agreeing that they are incompatible, both parties shall be reassigned new partners.

Couples shall be monitored routinely and any children produced will be subject to a series of non-intrusive tests to ensure that the above mentioned negative traits are absent.

If I have missed any major points please can you present them to me this afternoon,

Kingsley

As if Hermione had summoned him by reading his name, Kingsley Shacklebolt strode out of the fire, the journey not seeming to break his stride at all. He surveyed the scene around him for a moment before speaking, "Ah good, I see the misdirected memo I sent out reached you alright Arthur. Now, this needs –"

"How can you let this happen?" screeched Molly, cutting off the minister for magic mid-sentence, "You're supposed to be in charge, why haven't you stopped it?" Mr Weasley placed his hand gently on his wife's arm but she shook it off. Kingsley held up his hands in defence.

"Molly, I'm doing everything I can to block this rule coming in but the Betrothals and Marriages Office have rushed it through. I didn't even know about it before yesterday when I saw the white parchment for it. I'm not a dictator Molly, the wizengamot are meeting in two days to vote on it and I will be appealing to all wizards to vote against it. I can't order them to but in the mean time I'll be trying to find out what's behind it and whether I can legally overrule a vote cast by the Wizengamot, just in case.

"You think it will be passed then?" Arthur asked, aghast. Hermione listened distractedly, the fact she was still sat down while they all stood around her and talked over her head made her feel somewhat detached from the whole conversation. As though they were talking about someone else's life. Her eyes scanned the parchment again to make sure she had understood correctly. That it may become law for her to marry a pureblooded wizard chosen by the ministry.

Kingsley nodded slowly, "The fact that this has come out of nowhere, that no one consulted me first. This reeks of foul play. And no one would attempt such a blatant coup unless they were sure that they could get away with it. And it plays on the worst fears of so many – that the wizarding world is dying out. It will be presented as logical. It even has precedence - it happened once before in the seventeenth century when the plague and the great fire coupled with widespread witch hunting wiped out a large number of the magical community. All we can do now, is make arrangements to minimise its effect while I work to get it overturned,"

Hermione felt the collective gritting of everyone's teeth, as though Kingsley had answered the question they had all been arguing about when she arrived. Her mind felt sluggish and slow for once. She looked up at Kingsley,

"What are they hoping to gain? Do they want muggle borns to give up their wands?" There was no need to elaborate on who "they" were. They all knew she was suggesting that dark magic was behind it.

"That is obviously an option, however, the fact that the ruling doesn't mention it, would suggest they aren't offering that as an easy way out. No, it seems as though they want the marriages to take place,"

"Why?" asked Hermione, horrorstruck. The thought of being forced to marry someone purely for their blood status must be more unappealing to the witches and wizards that revered the purity of their bloodline, even more than it did to her.

"Why do you think?" George piped up, his usually jovial tone bitter as he looked from her to the parchment that she held, his hands in fists at his sides. Suddenly, her mind seemed to kick back into gear again, and things fell into place. The thought of death eater suitors lining up for her hand wrapped icy strands around her heart.

"Oh – oh! Me? Surely this isn't all about me? What could they want me for?"

No one seemed to want to answer.

"We need to something to stop them though," Fleur strode forward and jabbed at the parchment, "It says 'ere that all non-betrothed muggle born witches will be bound to a pure blood wizard," she looked at Hermione wide eyed and enunciated, "non-betrothed witches. Zat is it, is it not?" she turned Kinglsey, her hands on her hips – something Hermione recognised that she had picked up from Mrs Weasley.

"Yes," agreed Kingsley, "we've only got a few hours to act but if it is as we fear and the law is somehow to do with Hermione but she is betrothed before this proposal is made public, it may be enough to put a halt to it. At any rate, at least Hermione will be protected, until I can sort this mess out. I'm so sorry to deliver this bad news and run, but I have to get back and prepare for the meeting. I'll let you know more as soon as I find it out,"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, unsure whether what would come out would be a squeak of outrage at being treated no better than a house elf, a lament over all the girls' lives that would be ruined because of her, or to laugh at the part Veela's confidence that if a girl wanted to be betrothed then betrothed she would be. By the time she had muttered as much as "but", Kinglsey had disappeared back into the fireplace. She looked round the room at Bill who even now was watching his wife with admiration, at Harry, holding hands with Ginny. Their betrothal had been announced a year ago. They were due to get married in a few months. Harry and Ginny looked at each other and Hermione recognised the determined look they both wore. Typical bloody Gryffindors, she thought, as Ginny nodded slightly and they unclasped hands,

"I'll do it," Harry spoke slowly but determinedly. Hermione felt a rush of affection for her dear friend and the sacrifice he would make for her.

"No, you can't!" she said, jumping to her feet.

"It's ok Hermione," Ginny agreed with Harry, her face wearing the hard look that Harry had always described dreamily as 'blazing'.

"Hermione's right," said Arthur, and before Harry or Ginny could protest about how ok it all was, he continued, "to break a betrothal you have to submit a petition to dissolve a union to the Betrothals and Marriages Office, you have to prove you aren't a couple any more, you both have to have an interview - there simply isn't the time. I'm afraid you can't get out of being my son in law that easily," he allowed himself a small smile at Harry to let him know that he understood the sacrifice he had been prepared to make and that he wasn't offended that he would have broken off his betrothal to his daughter. Harry looked relieved and grabbed Ginny's hand again,

"Sorry Hermione," he grinned apologetically.

Hermione smiled back and touched her hand to her heart, the words of gratitude at what he would have done for her stuck in her throat.

It was only then that she was aware of Mrs Weasley advancing on George like a cat to a mouse, an expectant look in her eye. George ignored her and turned to Hermione instead, dropping to his knees in front of her and clasping her hands in his.

"Hermione, you know you've wanted me ever since you laid eyes on me," Hermione snorted and swatted him on the shoulder, "and I can't deny you're one hot witch," he paused, taking a deep breath. Her heart hammered, was she going to be proposed to by George? For a moment a life with George flashed before her eyes. Even the thought of it made her feel exhausted. "But" he said dramatically, looking over his shoulder at his mother. Hermione saw fear cross his features for a moment before he let out all in a rush, "Angelina's pregnant, we got married in secret two weeks ago in muggle Vegas, didn't know how to tell you all, this seems as good a time as any, sorry," then ducked, as though he was expecting one of Mrs Weasley's heavier cooking implements to come crashing down on him. When nothing greeted him but stunned silence he dared to quip that those types of announcements were always easier with Fred to take half the blame.

That broke the spell. Molly was crying, trying to hug him and hit him at the same time. Bill was clapping him on the back. Even Hermione forgot the problem at hand and smiled widely at George's red face. It took a few minutes for the hubbub of congratulations to die down and for Hermione to realise that although she was happy for George and Angelina, that did mean that the number of eligible men in the room had just dwindled to zero. The thought of Draco popped into her head, but she knew that even if she was sure he could be trusted, which she wasn't, there was no way she would be able to convince the rest of the order. They would be unhappy enough that she had been stepping out with the former death eater, let alone marrying him. Plus he would probably laugh in her face. After all, they had only been on a handful of dates, during which they seemed to spend most of their time either arguing, discussing the Dragora potion, or arguing about the Dragora potion.

As Hermione had got older, although her caring nature and vehement belief in justice remained, her ability to think dispassionately and strategically had improved. The Hermione of her school days would be stomping around and refusing to be betrothed to anyone before running off to the library but she knew that wouldn't get her anywhere. She was totally confident that Kingsley would be able to overturn the law and also had no intention of marrying anyone for any reason other than love, however she couldn't deny the convenience of a betrothal now that could be discreetly broken off after the law was either not passed or removed. There weren't many men that would go along with that with no expectations or reservations, she acknowledged. The fear and anger that she might become a chattel of a death eater, despite the protection of the order, started to creep back in. A despondent silence fell for a moment, as though all members were considering the same.

Suddenly the crack of apparition outside was followed by the front door swinging open. The late afternoon sun silhouetted the tall, lean figure in the doorway yet Hermione would know it anywhere.

"I got your owl mum, what's so urgent that – WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS SHE DOING HERE?" The angry blue eyes of Ronald Bilius Weasley were staring right at her.


	4. Chapter 4

**All the characters are property of JKR**

 **Thank you so much to kabg01 for beta-ing this and reassuring me about it.**

Hermione leapt out of the chair, looking at her feet, "I'd better be going," she mumbled, making her way to the fire place. She wasn't sure where she was going, she just knew she had to get out of the suddenly too small room as quickly as possible. With the exception of New Year's Eve, she hadn't clapped eyes on that particular member of the Weasley family for over a year and she was in no hurry to see any more of the man, 'no – _boy'_ , she corrected herself crossly, who was now glaring at her as though trying to manage a wordless 'incendio'.

She had one foot in the fireplace before everyone else in the room seemed to snap out of the shock of seeing Hermione and Ron in the same room as one another.

"Wait!" shouted Harry. Hermione paused. If it had been anyone else but Harry she would have left but her best friend's voice had a tinge of desperation that she couldn't ignore. When she turned her head, he was approaching her slowly, hands up in front of him, like he was approaching a niffler whilst wearing a tin foil suit, "Just…..wait," he repeated more softly. She stepped back and allowed Harry to lead her back to the chair.

"Ron, please" Harry pleaded, "Can you just sit down for five minutes. You don't have to talk to each other. Merlin, you don't even have to pay any attention to what I've got to say but just let me talk,"

As though he was doing Harry a huge favour, Ron threw down his bag and discarded his expensive looking cloak. Hermione sneaked a look at him through her eyelashes and immediately wished she hadn't. She hadn't noticed at New Year but he seemed even taller than before, his shoulders broader, his arms more muscular. He even seemed to move more easily, as though he had grown into his body. The fact that her heart clenched in response to his presence felt like a betrayal.

"I'll listen," Ron grumbled, "But I'm not talking to her," his tone immediately cast Hermione's mind back to their times in the tent, to Ron wearing the locket for too long. She traced a burn mark on the table top with gloomy introspection. There was nothing Harry could say that would fix things between them – to try was a waste of valuable time that could be used to try and figure out a way to avoid being married off to a death eater.

"You two are my best friends. We've been to hell and back together. To see you two like this, tearing yourselves up, tearing everyone up, it's killing me. It's got to stop. I don't mean you have to like each other, or be friends or anything. I've accepted the golden trio is no more. Even the papers have stopped printing articles guessing what happened between you. But for my sake, for Ginny's – for your family's sake Ron, can we at least get to a point where you can be in the same room as each other for a few minutes without going for each other? We're not at school any more. I can't split my time between the library and the quidditch pitch. Have you got any idea how hard it is for us all to keep you two apart? For Ron to come round for dinner in the week and Hermione for lunch on a Sunday and for us all to watch every word we all say to make sure we don't mention the wrong thing to the wrong person?"

"No one asked you to," Ron muttered darkly but Harry was getting warmed up to the subject now,

"You've got no idea of the eggshells we've all been walking on and the complicated planning it takes to keep you two apart. Ginny had to have two birthday parties last year so neither of you would feel left out. And we all went along with it! We all wrapped her presents back up and she pretended to be surprised when she opened them again. How sick is that? We literally have this whole operation of monitoring your locations and who is doing what with who and when, to make sure you don't see each other and you two just go along with no idea about it. Well I've had enough of it. I can't take it anymore; I'm not going to do it anymore,"

Hermione sat back aghast. She had had no idea of how much her and Ron's break up had affected everyone else. Mortification at what they must have said behind her back to even come up with an idea to stage a second birthday party curled in her stomach, mainly because she could see why they had done it. Ron seemed as though he still didn't want to believe it,

"Oh come on, I mean, I know it's been a bit awkward but –"

"It's true little bro," George laid a hand on his shoulder, "dealing with you two has been like holding a blast ended skrewt in the middle and trying to avoid both ends," Molly and Ginny nodded in agreement.

Ron seemed to sag against the table, all of the fight went out of him, "Sorry mate," Ron apologised earnestly to Harry.

"Yes, sorry Harry," agreed Hermione sadly. At the sound of her voice, Ron looked up at her with icy, sneering indifference. She didn't blame him. She wished the sight of him could leave her as cold. Instead, just looking at him made it feel like white hot rage was bubbling up inside her, threatening to burst out of her mouth and shoot out of her fingertips. The end of her wand glowed ominously and she stowed it away safely in her robes before it ignited. It was clear to everyone in the room that although they were sorry for the pain they had caused their family and friends; they were not and would not be sorry to each other.

"Good. Right," Harry rubbed his hands together, unsure of what to say next. The fight he had been expecting had not come and yet nothing was resolved. All of the techniques he had learned at work to get dark wizards that he was interviewing escaped him momentarily, letting the silence stretch out awkwardly for a moment. He was just beginning to panic when Ron spoke,

"Err, that's all very nice and everything but did you want anything mum? Only I was in the middle of a sales pitch to the Head Auror at the Magical Congress of the USA,"

"How did it go?" George couldn't help himself from asking, leaning over Molly's shoulder.

Ron grinned widely, stretching back to talk to him. Hermione wished that she hadn't seen the flash of his white teeth, the thin sliver of skin at his waistband as his t-shirt pulled taut across his chest.

"They loved it. Reckon they'll be placing a big order soon. They weren't too sure about the improvements we'd made to the sneakoscopes they use but they couldn't get enough of the avada-proof cloaks. I told them, they'll be laughing….as long as they don't get cursed in the head," both Weasley boys finished together, obviously an oft repeated joke.

Hermione gritted her teeth. Being faced with Ron's success infuriated her, especially when she saw him looking at her slyly, trying to gauge her reaction. Well she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much being wrong annoyed her. And she could see now that she had been wrong, telling him that leaving the Auror department to go and work at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes was a mistake. It was so much more now than a joke shop. Fred and George had laid the seeds with the defensive charms they had started to sell, but having an ex-Auror and war hero endorsing and developing the products, they had been barely able to keep up with the explosion in popularity of their security line. George had remained in charge of the lighter-hearted side of the business, opening another shop in Hogsmeade as he and Fred had discussed, as well as one in New York and offering the owl order service worldwide; but Ron had taken to selling the defensive products with the enthusiasm and skill that he approached a game of wizard chess. He became the face and brain of Weasley's Security Spells and as far as Hermione could tell, had become almost an informal advisor to magical law enforcement worldwide. She could barely open Witch Weekly without seeing an article about how successful he was, walk down the street without seeing a billboard with his face on it advertising the intruder alarms he had invented for Wizarding homes or similar, and worst of all, she couldn't walk through work without seeing that body orange and purple W logo discreetly set at doorways and on valuable items. As George would put it, the brothers were raking in the galleons.

Arthur cleared his throat, looking between Ron and Hermione diplomatically, "We did want something actually Ron - we've got a bit of a problem. I found out something at work today and Kingsley has just been here and confirmed it,"

Ron's face paled, his freckles showing starkly against his skin - he scanned the collected members of his family as though he was trying to work out who was missing. Hermione knew his thoughts matched the ones she had when she was summoned to the Burrow,

"What is it?" he saw them all glance towards Fleur who was still holding the parchment, "Victoire?" he gasped, already half out of his chair.

"She is safe wiz er grandmuzzer. Eet is this they are looking at," she explained and handed the parchment to Ron.

He read silently, his brow furrowed and shoulders tense before looking up, confused, "What the hell is this all about?"

"We don't know – some attempt to get all the muggle born witches rounded up and married off to pure blood wizards. We aren't sure, but we think, and Kingsley agrees, that it's bad. It could be death eaters behind it, or even if there aren't, there are enough people at the Ministry with their own dark agendas," Harry's face was grave.

"But I'm ok for now. It says it's not compulsory for me to apply? So what's the urgency?"

"It's Hermione we're worried about, you idiot," hissed Ginny, "she's going to be married off to a death eater,"

For a moment, Ron seemed to forget that she was the enemy, and stared at her, panicked realisation crashing in his eyes like a thousand prophecies collapsing into dust. His hand twitched towards her before he collected himself and smoothed his face into bored neutrality. Molly sat down beside him, taking his outstretched hand and patting it gently. Time had started to fade her red hair but her eyes were still sharp as she surveyed her son, "We think, and Minister Shacklebolt agrees" using his formal title seemed to add weight to the argument that she was preparing to mount, "that Hermione is in real danger. We only have a few hours - the proposal is going to be announced tomorrow and the law passed the day after that. The only way she would avoid it, is if she were already betrothed…." She trailed off tactfully.

Only then did Hermione realise why Molly had called Ron back to the Burrow so urgently, why Harry had felt that peace talks were required, "Oh no!" she backed away from the table like a wet cat, making for the floo again, before Harry and Ginny grabbed her by the shoulders.

"It could be him or Goyle," Harry warned. Ron looked blankly at the exchange, having evidently not caught up to why Hermione was so annoyed, or why everyone else was looking at him like he was the last pumpkin pasty in a famine.

"Mum's talking about you," George interjected mischievously.

"Me? No! Look, it's one thing asking me to be civil to the girl at parties and stuff but marrying her?" Ron was careful not to look at her now, wary after letting his guard slip before.

"No one said anything about marrying, Ronald" huffed Hermione in irritation. Had Goyle turned up right now, she couldn't be totally sure that she wouldn't rather him after all. Again she thought of Draco, wishing she could just talk to him for a moment, wishing things weren't moving so fast.

"Oh I'm sorry Hermione, has stupid Ron missed the point? Why don't you explain it to me, just make sure you don't use any long words won't you!" Ron was starting to get overdramatic, one of the sure signs that a row between them was underway.

Harry attempted to insert himself between them to nip the argument in the bud before one or both of them stormed off, "What Hermione means, is that only betrothal is necessary, you wouldn't have to get married. You wouldn't even need to speak to each other. You could go back to ignoring each other, just the same as before,"

"Just the same, but betrothed," Ron stretched the word over his tongue. "It's alright for Hermione but I'm seeing someone,"

The smug smile he didn't quite manage to hide, his casual assumption that she was some lonely spinster that would cramp his style, made her see red, "So am I!" she screamed shrilly.

"Then why not get him to propose?" his voice rattled the ornaments on the mantelpiece.

"Fine, I will!" she shrieked, her voice even louder than his, and disappeared.

oOoOoOo

Hermione apparated back into her own kitchen, followed just a few seconds later by Ginny,

"I would snog Professor Snape before I ever get betrothed to that ginger git!" Hermione raged, pacing the room.

"Oi," warned Ginny, fluffing her red hair.

"Sorry, it's just he gets me so….argghhhh" Hermione ran her hands through her hair, unable to formulate words to describe how much Ron annoyed her.

"So what are your other options? Do you want to sit down and make a list?" Ginny tried to coax her to sit down at the table with the offer of a quill and parchment but Hermione ignored her, "Seeing as Snape is unavailable for snogging practice, what other choices do you have? Would you rather give up your wand than spend a couple of months living with a piece of paper saying you're betrothed to him? I've heard it sends people mad, having to go back to live with muggles…"

Hermione shuddered; she had seen cases of that whilst on a visit to St Mungo's to visit a newly created vampire. It wasn't pleasant, "Would an arranged marriage be that bad?" she mused.

"Depends who to, plus I don't think marriage is the point, I think having babies is what it's all about. That's what dad said anyway. Are you ready to have a baby Hermione? Just think, if you were betrothed to Ron, it'd be like we were sisters-in-law. I've always wanted a sister,"

"Well I'm sorry to inconvenience you but that is not going to happen,"

"What about what Ron said? You know….about asking Draco?" Ginny quailed as Hermione glared at her, furious that she might agree with something Ron said, "He might agree to it just to annoy Ron?"

As much as Hermione hated it, as much as she knew Draco would crow over her forever about it, she knew it was the best option she had. Nodding slowly, more to herself than Ginny, she walked over to the fire and grabbed a handful of floo powder.

As soon as she entered Draco's flat she knew that she had made a mistake. The tinkle of glassware and the low hum of talking that stopped as soon as she entered the room alerted her to the fact that Draco had company before the ashes had settled enough for her to see. Draco seemed to have transfigured his sofa into an elaborately laid dining table covered in a linen table cloth and afternoon tea things. Draco stared wide eyed at her, a sandwich suspended halfway between his plate and his mouth.

"What the hell is she doing here?" Pansy Parkinson growled. Only the other guest, a tall dark haired man that she remembered from school as Theo Nott seemed to remember his manners and half rose from his chair, his expression politely bemused.

"Granger?" Draco asked, suddenly remembering he could move and after folding his napkin onto the table, moved round to her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think. I didn't know you'd have…company," stammered Hermione.

"Draco, I repeat, what is she –"

"Be quiet Pans," Theo cut off the pug faced Slytherin girl.

Draco looked from his friends to Hermione awkwardly, at a loss of what to say. Whilst they had never discussed the covert nature of their relationship and had never shied away from going out in public, they had both declined to tell anyone about what was going on between them.

"Is it...important?" he hissed.

"You had better not tell me that you and that mudblood…?" Pansy was getting shrill now, her hands on her hips. Draco winced apologetically.

Hermione waited one second, two, three, for Draco to say something to Pansy for using that word, to tell her that yes; him and that mudblood were seeing each other. Anything. However, the etiquette that had been drilled into him from a young age forbade him to be rude to a guest. Cursing his breeding, he ushered her into the kitchen hurriedly, muttering "come with me," as he shot Theo a warning look to keep Parkinson under control. A house elf squeaked in surprise and hid in a cupboard at the sight of them entering the room.

"Granger, what is it? Are you alright? Why are you here?" his brow was furrowed in concern, his tone low so they couldn't be overheard.

"I….." she hesitated for a moment as she saw him glance over her shoulder to make sure his friends weren't following. That one glance caused her to gather the tatters of her pride around her. There was no way she was going to beg bloody Malfoy to get betrothed to her in front of Pansy Parkinson of all people. Parkinson, who Malfoy hadn't even defended her to. For all she knew it, he could already be betrothed to Parkinson. Getting to know Draco had somehow made her forget that he was a _Malfoy_. Of course he couldn't get betrothed to a muggleborn, what would people think? "Sorry, no. It wasn't important, you get back to your guests," she finished tightly.

Draco let out a gusting sigh and pressed her hands with his, "I'll come round tonight when they're gone. I'll get rid of them as soon as I can. There's something wrong isn't there? Is there something you need? Blow what my mother will say, I can kick them both out now if you need?"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione admitted, defeated and before he could say any more, was back through the living room. Theo and Parkinson seemed involved in some kind of tussle, him holding her wand above her head while she hit and kicked him. They didn't even notice her go back through the floo.

Ginny was still waiting for her in her kitchen when she flooed back in. She just managed to shake her head sadly before bursting into angry tears.

"Didn't go well then?" Ginny asked, wiping the older girl's face and rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"That's putting it mildly," Hermione hiccupped, smiling weakly.

"Don't suppose you've got any other boyfriends you can drop in on and ask them to marry you?"

Hermione shook her head again.

"Back to the Burrow then?" Ginny gave Hermione's eyes a final pat with a hanky and cast a quick cooling charm to reduce the redness before gripping her arm and apparating them both back to the Burrow.

oOoOoOo

"She said she'll do it," Ginny announced, before they had even stopped spinning.

"Well thank Merlin for that, your imaginary boyfriend said no then?" Ron intoned sarcastically.

"Oh you just love this don't you Ronald, getting to play the hero!" their argument seemed to have picked up where they left off

"Funnily enough no, getting hauled half way across the world to get yelled at by you of all people, then expected to –"

"Look, if we could just sit down -"

"Shut up Harry!" they yelled in unison at the boy who lived as he tried once again to calm the situation. He backed away, hands raised in defeat.

Focussing their anger on Harry seemed to throw them out of their stride and the assembled Weasleys saw them both take a deep breath and consider what to throw at the other next. Whether sensing a moment of weakness or genuinely upset, Molly burst into noisy tears.

Ron scratched the back of his neck "Don't do that mum,"

Harry tried one more time, "Ron, Hermione, I don't want to see you two betrothed any more than you want to be," Hermione couldn't help herself mutter that she doubted it under her breath, "but right now we don't have a lot of time or options. The Betrothals and Marriages Office will close for the day in…" he looked at his watch, "half an hour and tomorrow might be too late. The way I see it, the two choices are that either you two conduct a ritual now and your dating opportunities are curtailed for the next couple of months, or however long that it takes Kingsley to get the rule overturned, then you two can dissolve it and go back to ignoring each other, or we could be facing the possibility that Hermione will end up married to a death eater. And I suspect they won't need a couple of months to do their worst. Hermione, would you literally rather die than be betrothed to Ron?" she grudgingly shook her head, her arms folded across her chest as she refused to look anywhere in the direction of Ron or Harry, "Ron, you don't even have to speak to each other after today, but are you going to walk out on Hermione when she needs you?" the unspoken 'again' hung in the air.

"Low blow mate," Ron grumbled.

"Well?"

"We wouldn't have to see each other, or do couple stuff?" Hermione didn't want it any more than Ron but hearing it confirmed still stung.

"No," Harry assured

"Alright,"

Hermione's head whipped sharply to look at him. She didn't know what his family had said to him whilst she had been making a fool of herself in front of the wizarding high society but she suspected that it was severe. He was staring sullenly, challengingly at her, daring her to be the one to back out of the arrangement that neither of them wanted. A ripple of shock went round the room that it might actually happen.

"What?" she couldn't help herself addressing him directly.

Ron's face reddened as he wrung out his words with great difficulty, "Well…. Wouldn't you?...I mean, for me? Merlin, I don't want you _dead_ Hermione!"

Harry coughed slightly to mask his shock, "Mr Weasley, are you able to do it now?"

"Now?" Ron and Hermione exclaimed, once again in unison.

"Nothing like striking while the cauldron's hot," grinned George.

"Right," Arthur scratched his forehead with the tip of his wand, looking suddenly nervous, "Right…This should be easy enough, I've already done it for Bill and Fleur, and Harry and Ginny of course. If you start to feel unusual, best step away from each other and we'll start again,"

"What does unusual mean?" Ron asked in trepidation.

"He means that when he did me and Fleur, he caught my shoes on fire," Bill supplied.

"And mine" Harry added, helpfully. Ron stared woefully down at his boots.

"That's enough. I know where I went wrong now. Harry's were barely smoking," Arthur justified, "Now, you two, hold hands. I'm afraid….Oh I am so sorry…..I'm afraid you're going to have to look at each other,"

Molly started sniffling again and complaining to Fleur in hushed tones that if a couple needed to be told that normally she'd be surprised and that she didn't know how things had come to be like that between them.

Ron swallowed visibly before stepping forwards and taking Hermione's slightly clammy hands into his own warm, dry ones with surprising gentleness. Hermione felt her lip tremble slightly but she didn't falter when she looked upwards, wide brown eyes meeting terrified blue.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He looked as though he was going to say something back but Arthur started the spell, obviously keen to get it done quickly before either of them changed their minds

"Now if I ask you a question, just say yes, otherwise just follow my instructions it's quite simple," he reassured them, although his uneasy tone belied his confident words.

First he placed the tip of his wand on their joined hands. Hermione felt a warmth emanating from it and dared a glance down. Thin gold threads were ghosting out of the end, tentatively extending over their wrists.

"Do you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, wish to be bound in betrothal to Hermione Jean Granger?"

"Yes," said Ron.

The golden strands seemed to solidify as they issued from Arthur's wand and wrapped themselves around their clasped hands.

"Do you, Hermione Jean Granger, wish to be bound in betrothal to Ronald Bilius Weasley?"

"Yes" said Hermione, despite every ounce of her common sense screaming at her that this was bound to end in tears. A second burst of gold filaments intertwined with the first. Hermione could feel them interlinking and spreading. They were up to her elbow now.

"And this betrothal is bound by love, and the intention of entering into marriage?" Ron broke eye contact for a minute to look, panicked at his father. The spell dimmed. Arthur nodded frantically at them both. Ron looked back down into her eyes, his expression unreadable,

"Yes," he whispered.

"Yes," repeated Hermione, barely a beat behind. The golden threads exploded around them, surrounding them, binding them together but Ron's eyes did not leave hers again. It was like looking at the sun. It would have been easier to gaze into the molten core of the golden threads that were burning and twisting tighter and tighter.

"Now you need to…ah…kiss to seal the spell," Arthur's apologetic tones seemed faint and distant over the pounding of blood in her head. The tips of Ron's ears were red and his mouth was set in a grim line as he hesitated. He inclined his head barely an inch and his gaze lowered to her suddenly dry mouth. She licked her top lip nervously, causing Ron's pupils to dilate at the sight of the small pink triangle. Hermione didn't know if it was the spell or just plain non-magical fear but her nerves were alight in anticipation, her heart pounding as though it wanted to escape her chest. All in a rush, Ron seemed to screw up his courage and pressed his closed lips against hers. The glowing strands seemed to focus in on that point; Hermione felt them leaving the rest of her body and shrinking into the connection between the two of them. It could have gone on for a second, or ten minutes, she had no idea, but the moment the blazing died away behind her closed eyelids, Ron pulled away again and she stepped back rapidly to increase the dangerously small distance between the two of them.

"Is that it?" Ron asked.

"Yes", said Arthur, sinking back into a chair in relief, "and your shoes are still intact. I'm sorry I didn't warn you about the end bit, I didn't want either of you to think too much on it,"

"Don't worry, not thinking's my speciality," Ron looked bitterly towards Hermione.

Before she could retort, a large tawny owl swooped elegantly in through the window. The tips of its wing feathers brushed Hermione's cheek as it deposited a large parchment envelope in her outstretched hands, before wheeling away and back out the way it came.

Hermione ripped the envelope open and pulled out the letter. It was a certificate, decoratively lettered and stamped with a golden mark at the bottom. She read tremulously from the parchment

"This certificate of Betrothal doth Decree that on the seventeenth of March 2003 Ronald Bilius Wesley did become bound to Hermione Jean Granger, by decree of the Betrothals and Marriages Office"

"Great," sighed Ron wearily before he gathered his belongings up and disapparated.

"Sister!" Ginny squealed, throwing her arms around Hermione.

 **To all you Dramione fans, sorry! But there's a lot more Dramione still to come.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks to my beta kabg01**

 **All characters mentioned belong to JK Rowling.**

* * *

Hermione waited for the kettle to boil. She could, of course, have heated the water magically in seconds but she enjoyed the short wait. It gave her time to get her favourite mug out of the cupboard (Harry had bought it for her from a novelty shop; it read "witches are bitches, snuggle a muggle) and ruminate on the past week's events.

As predicted by Kingsley the law had been passed, albeit by a slim majority. A lot of wizards and witches had expressed concern about arranging marriages but Aurelius Hazeldene, the whippet-like head of the Betrothals and Marriages Office had spoken so convincingly about the fact that they would be making the matches sympathetically, that there was an option to end a betrothal, that he almost made it sound like it would be beneficial to them. The expected backlash from the pureblooded families who seemed to most fear the dilution of their bloodline didn't materialise. After all, it wasn't compulsory for pure blooded wizards to sign up. Leave that to lesser wizards who didn't mind being blood traitors and sullying their family name. The threat of conscription was raised by Kingsley but Hazeldene just glossed over it and said he believed it to be very unlikely to be needed. A few vaguely threating statements about the rapid decline in numbers of known wizards in the UK and he sat down to wild applause, from some of the audience at least. Kingsley spoke passionately about the loss of free will and how there were some things that ministry shouldn't be meddling with and that they needed to learn from the mistakes the Ministry had made in the past. He sat down to wide applause and for a moment, Hermione who was listening outside with an extendable ear, thought that the law would never be passed. Then Mafalda Hopkirk, the head of Magical Law Enforcement spoke of the ending of long standing hatred between purebloods and muggles, made it sound like this was the only thing that could prevent future wizarding wars. After all, a Death Eater might be more reluctant to hate a muggle born once she had given them a grandchild or nephew or niece. Hermione was sceptical, remembering Tonks's body laid out still and cold on the flagstone floor of the great hall at the hand of her aunt, but she couldn't deny the tempting hope that the idea wound around the listening wizengamot. In the end, even the condemnation of the Minister for Magic hadn't been enough to sway the vote.

Deep in thought, she moved automatically to pour the boiling water onto the tea bag and was just about to take her first sip from the cup when there was a flash of green flames in the fireplace and Draco sauntered into kitchen. She set the cup down hard on the worktop and cast a warming charm over it with a grimace. Tea never tasted the same after being magically warmed.

"I just wanted to stop by to congratulate the future Mrs Weaselbee personally," he drawled, his expression inscrutable.

"You've heard then," Hermione sighed. Of course he had heard. After humiliating herself by interrupting his 'tea party of doom', as she had taken to thinking of it, she had avoided him, staying at the Burrow the night of the betrothal so she didn't have to see him if he did show up to see what was the matter with her. Did she need to apologise? Would he guess why she had turned up just under a week ago at his place, wild eyed and wilder haired, needing to talk to him? The famous Gryffindor bravery had deserted her regarding the questions that had plagued her during sleepless nights, "It's all over this blasted marriage law, doubtless you've read about it," she said airily, hoping to convey a tone of careless annoyance.

"Good work, getting in there first. Some…acquaintances," his nose wrinkled distastefully at the word, "seem quite disappointed about not being able to get their grubby hands on you. I think you were quite the prize offering to some of them. Goodness knows why," He seemed to have forgotten about her bursting into his living room, or was keen to spare her embarrassment by not mentioning it.

He smiled wickedly at her, advancing towards her until she was pressed up against the worktop, pinned there by him. Her heart started to beat faster and she saw his pupils dilate as he licked his lips hungrily.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she breathed as he slid his hands up her sides

"So what happened, have you and the Weasel kissed and made up or did you bat your eyelashes at him and ask him to get betrothed for convenience until the whole thing blows over? I'm guessing it's the latter otherwise you probably wouldn't be letting me do this,"

Hermione noticed with a gasp that he had undone almost all of the buttons of her top but quick as a flash he had pulled it open, exposing her neck and chest and lowered his head to lay a trail of searing kisses along her collar bone.

"It wasn't like that - the Order felt it would be safer that I was betrothed to another member, rather than just being married off to any pureblood that the ministry saw fit to match me with. If it is even as random as that," she tried to keep a level head, tried to carry on the conversation even as her skin ached to be touched. She dragged a deep breath in through her nose as his hands wound deep into her hair and the kisses continued up her neck and close enough to her lips that when he pulled back, she nearly fell into the empty space between their mouths.

Draco narrowed his eyes, "Quite a few family friends have volunteered. I assumed it was just because they were all too thick and ugly to get a wife a normal way. I'm sure I don't need to tell you what I mean when I say family friends," he seemed reluctant to voice the words 'death eaters'. He slid her shirt off of her shoulders before deliberately, with one finger, slipping down first one bra strap, then the other. Hermione arched her back involuntarily, causing their pelvises to connect in a way that caused her to have to stifle a moan in her throat.

"You aren't annoyed then, that I'm….ahhhh….betrothed to someone else?" she managed to finish her sentence despite the fact that Draco's grinding into her made her eyes roll back in her head

Draco hissed, "Malfoys don't do jealousy," he hoisted her up onto the worktop, finally, finally kissing her on the lips as her legs wrapped around him. For a few minutes, there was no more talking. She could feel his hardness pressing into the place she wanted him the most. Just a couple of flimsy layers of clothing was all that lay between them.

She used her heels to drag him closer to her, desperate for more friction, feeling herself starting to get wet. Draco scooped one of her pert breasts from her bra, rolling the nipple between his fingers. She could feel coherent thought start to leave her as his other hand started up her skirt, ghosting up her thigh, his thumb brushing over her already damp underwear.

Merlin he felt good. Any minute now they'd be at the point of no return. She gathered up the last of her restraint.

"I just feel like we shouldn't be doing this," she breathed heavily against his mouth, their foreheads touching, as she tried to get herself under control.

"Because of the Weasel?" He passed his thumb once more over the place she wanted him the most, teasing a shudder from her parted lips.

"Don't call him that," Hermione snapped automatically as she slid down from the worktop, her body trapped up against Draco as he refused to make room to accommodate her. Her breasts rubbed against his shirt, making them ache for attention.

"Look, if it wasn't for the law, you'd still be hating him and calling him a lot worse. Do you have feelings for him? He eyed her sceptically.

"No, but –" her resolve was wavering again as Draco traced his fingers, feather light over her collar bone. She could feel her hardness against her and she longed to touch it, to please him.

"Does he have feelings for you?" He murmured into her ear, his hot breath tickling the delicate skin there.

"Definitely not!"

"Then who could this hurt?" he leaned in and nibbled her earlobe.

"Mmm. Ah I just don't think –"

"What if there are rules, Granger? You like rules don't you," he breathed into her hair as he took both her hands and pinned them behind her back, holding them easily in one of his larger one. With his other hand he used her ponytail like a rope to drag her head backwards and expose her neck, ravishing it with his mouth.

"Stop…please," It took all of her willpower to push him off her. She breathed deeply until she felt her racing heart subside and she could trust herself not to rip his shirt off. With the last of her tattered resolve and shaking hands, she buttoned back up her blouse.

"Draco, we aren't a pair of savages. This law will be overturned soon, I'm sure of it but until then, I think we should keep our hands off each other. We can still meet, although it's probably best we don't go anywhere public. I'll still help you with the potion,"

"Oh, bugger the potion!" Draco shouted, his usually pale face flushed.

"Well have you got any better ideas? Sneak around like a couple of…."

"Go on say it – you were going to say like a couple of Slytherin Snakes weren't you,"

"Like a couple of cheats, then. Or perhaps I should just tell the world that my betrothal's a sham? Then what? It's all very well bashing Ron but I don't see anyone else offering to save me from being married off to a death eater,"

Something was bubbling in the pit of her stomach. The source of her annoyance with him. The reason that she had been avoiding talking to him about it. The thing that had made her push him away, to not give in to him. It wasn't that she wanted to marry him. For him to sweep her away from all of this mess – the dark night and the helpless princess. She wasn't sure she even wanted him to ask, not even just for the pleasure of being able to tell him what a stupid idea it was. It was more that she wanted to acknowledge it as an option. But if he had even realised what she was hinting at, he was hiding it very well.

"You're right, I can't think of anyone else who would want to marry a bossy little know it all like you,"

"No, that much is painfully apparent, Draco,"

He fiddled with one of the cuffs of his robes for a moment, refusing to meet her eye, "Sorry about the other night. That's what you wanted to talk to me about wasn't it? To tell me you were betrothed to Weasley? That it was already done. Wasn't it?" his eyes searched hers, as though he was hoping for something else - a different answer. Remembering how he had let Pansy talk to her, Hermione grimaced.

"Yes, that was it," she lied, gazing off into the middle distance.

"Thought so," he said sadly.

"What did you tell your friends?" she cringed afresh at the memory of her bursting in on them. Definitely not one for the pensieve.

"Theo's my friend," Draco corrected, "Pansy is…well Pansy just is. Our parents make us socialise like that. Tradition dictates it apparently. And there aren't too many that want to be seen with an ex death eater. I'm either too evil or not evil enough. I told them you needed help with a ministry matter – they don't know you spend your time trying to civilise trolls and get equal rights for werewolves,"

Hermione ignored the slight on her job, "You didn't tell them about us?"

"Have you told Potter or the Weasel?" Draco asked pointedly. Hermione's red face answered the question for her.

"Well there you go then. I'm not ashamed," he assured her, his face open and honest, "it's just…"

"Complicated," Hermione finished with a sigh.

She tried to steer the subject on to safer ground, "I know what you said, but there was something I wanted to talk to you about. I remembered an article I read in the Potioneer's Periodical a couple of -"

"Bugger. The. Potion." Draco growled.

"I just wanted to mention –"

"Granger, do you want me to spank you?" his eyes flashed dangerously as he advanced on her

"Tincture of nettle," Hermione squeaked, ducking behind her hands.

Rather than the promised spanking, Draco simply grabbed her wrists, gently moving her hands down by her sides. She inhaled the clean astringent scent of lime and pepper and fir trees that she knew to be entirely his. With his body pressed up against her, he murmured into her hair "You'll be the death of me, you swotty, bossy, little know it all witch,"

"Are you betrothed to anyone?" She couldn't quite bite back the question in time, "I've heard that pureblooded families sometimes…"

"Not officially. There is an…understanding between the Malfoys and the Parkinsons," Hermione cringed at the name "but we're both free to date whoever we like. She seems to have decided to date the entire Irish Quidditch team at once," Draco chuckled without a hint of irritation.

"But you have to marry her?" Hermione pressed, the phrase 'glutton for punishment' flitting through her mind even as she asked,

"I don't have to. If either one of us found a more suitable match I'm sure our parents would have no issue about it. There's nothing down in writing,"

She didn't need Draco to explain what the Malfoy or Parkinson families would think of as more suitable. Not a muddy blooded Gryffindor who didn't even have vaults bursting with gold or a country estate to her name. Certainly not one that had peed all over your ballroom floor and put your husband in Azkaban.

Draco tucked a wayward curl behind her ear with infinite gentleness, "I don't love her you know,"

"It's alright, Grangers don't do jealousy," Hermione smiled bitterly before, "What Grangers do, is study, and I've got the detailed papers on the Marriage Law to look through," she took advantage of Draco looking to the stack of paperwork she pointed to on the kitchen table, to take a step away from him. When he turned back, he looked confused at the distance between them but chose to say nothing about it.

"Need any help?" he asked, smirking at the inference that he was somehow more able than her.

"No thank you, I'm quite capable. In fact, I'll probably have the law overturned by next week," her prim tone could have passed for Madam Pince's.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from Hermione "swottiest witch of her age" Granger,"

"I'd prefer it if you called me by my proper title "Hermione 'beat Draco Malfoy in every NEWT exam never mind how superior he acts' Granger"

"You'd have had trouble embroidering that into your school robes. I prefer my version,"

Hermione just huffed at him and made a show of getting out her parchment and quill. He didn't try and kiss her again, just stalked to the fireplace, giving her a wink before he flooed away that she felt all the way down to her toes.

She gripped the table for support and glanced down at her previously untouched parchment, which now had a neatly penned "We tied in potions, you little minx" in the corner. The neat bit of magic impressed her, she couldn't deny, but that wasn't why she was pressing her fingers to her lips to hold her smile in.

oOoOoOo

Although Hermione had more knowledge than average on Magical Law and the history of the first Marriage Act that Kingsley had mentioned, after a couple of hours of furious scribbling annotations in the margins of the Marriage Act paper, she had to admit defeat. Needing more information, she headed out against her better judgement, to Flourish and Blotts to buy some books on the subjects. People were looking at her. She could see them out of the corners of her eyes, hear the buzz of gossip as she walked down the street. A handful even stopped her to congratulate her, although she noted with amusement that several young witches she passed seemed to want to say something quite different to her for taking one of England's hottest young wizards off the market.

The media was portraying the law positively, although as Hermione knew from bitter experience, The Prophet would swear a doxy was a dragon upon being plied with enough Galleons. The dear old Quibbler, which had now gained something of cult following and was viewed like a Wizarding version of Private Eye, much to Xenophilus Lovegood's confusion, was of course denouncing the law loudly to anyone who would pay attention.

She shouldn't have gone out in public at all, just a few days after the Prophet ran a special commemorative paper for her and Ron getting betrothed. The worst of it was, the paper had tied it in to the Marriage Law, insinuating that they were somehow the first success of the ruling. Diagon Alley seemed even more busy than normal and Hermione cursed herself for visiting there on a Saturday. Still, she had made her purchases without being waylaid too seriously and now the apparition point was almost in sight. Having abandoned her cup of tea earlier, she could practically taste the replacement that she had promised herself as soon as she got back home.

Her heart sank as she saw him – her betrothed. Why did it seem that her enjoyment of a hot beverage was destined to be thwarted by infuriating wizards today? He was walking towards her, hands in his pockets, head down. Presumably he was as uncomfortable with the gossip as she was, although he did seem to have embraced the fame and adulation he received since they left school with much more relish than her or Harry. Hermione's head darted from side to side, looking for a doorway to duck into but there seemed to be no escape. He was coming nearer and nearer, like something from a cheap horror story. Still, he didn't seem to have seen her, maybe she could just pretend the same. She opened her book at a random point and pretended to be engrossed in it as she walked along. She didn't dare look up to see if he'd noticed her and so when she was grabbed around the middle by large hands, she squeaked in genuine shock.

"Darling!" Ron boomed right by her ear, making her wince, "look at you, head in a book! Silly darling," he embraced her theatrically. Ron's acting skills were never brilliant, she remembered from the role plays they had to carry out in Professor Burbage's Introduction to Muggle Studies classes.

"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me." She hissed through gritted teeth, pushing ineffectually at his arm around her waist. He ignored her and just pulled her even closer. She wondered if kicking him in the shins would cause too much of a scene,

"Andreas Dashwood is in Fortescue's watching everything we do, so don't even think about kicking me," he murmured into her ear. Hermione rattled through her mental rolodex and recognised the name from the Prophet's gossip pages. She glanced over surreptitiously and caught sight of the man with ridiculous teal hair and bright orange robes. He was holding a quill and regarding them like a cat does a mouse. She forced herself to relax in Ron's arms although every fibre of her being protested. She tried to think of places that she would like to be less than clamped against the chest of her ex boyfriend but got stuck after imagining being stuck in the U bend with Moaning Myrtle.

"There's no point going through all that rubbish – getting betrothed - the other day, if we blow your cover in five minutes, is there? Now if I let you go and you hit me, I swear I'll go and snog the nearest witch I can find for everyone to see, you see if I don't," his words tickled the top of her head. Hermione didn't respond but he released her anyway, holding her at arm's length with the pretence of smoothing down her rumpled robes. His eyes were cold, the same dispassionate look he had given her at the Burrow.

"I do know that, Ron," she said haughtily, trying to claw back a little control over the situation, "I just didn't see him. I mean - I didn't see you,"

"Constant vigilance, that's the key," Ron growled in a passable impression of Moody. Hermione smiled in spite of herself. He looked over the top of her head and nodded slightly, satisfied that Andreas had turned his attention to the sizeable chocolate Sundae that had just been delivered to his table before dropping his arms to his side, suddenly awkward like he had no business touching her any more. His lip almost curled into a lopsided grin but seemed to think better of it and without another word he made off down the street,

"Ron!" Hermione called after him unthinkingly. She saw his back stiffen as he stopped in his tracks and turned slowly to look at her, "I – er – thank you,"

"S'alright," he shrugged, before continuing onwards down the street. Hermione stood and watched his retreating form until the crowds swallowed him up and he disappeared from view.

"That bloody bastard," she muttered under her breath before she stalked off home, any craving for tea replaced by thoughts of drinking gin from her tea cup.


	6. Chapter 6

**I'm not a big one for long A/Ns but I just wanted to say hi to the 50 people who are now following this story. That's twice as many as I've ever had before so thank you.**

 **Thanks to kabg01 for beta-ing for me**

* * *

Over a month had passed since they had signed the papers and seen that beautiful spell bind their hands together and it was already feeling unreal, like something Hermione had dreamed. Other than the one time in Diagon Alley, she hadn't to spoken Ron or even as much as seen him since. Life seemed to carry on almost exactly as before. For her at least. She often thought guiltily about the muggle born witches – some of whom were her friends and colleagues, who hadn't had a secret connection to the Minister for Magic and weren't able to arrange an eleventh hour betrothal of convenience. Amy Jones, a pretty Welsh Hufflepuff from Ginny's year, who Hermione often sat and ate lunch with in the Ministry's canteen, had been one of the first to be matched. Her betrothed was one Julius Avery - Hermione vaguely remembered the towering, dark haired Slytherin who had been in the fourth year when she had started Hogwarts. The name was familiar, of course. His father was a death eater. At least he was safely locked away in Azkaban, which was now under goblin control. A few, like Rodolphus Lestrange and his brother, had slipped through the net, gone to ground. All covered up by the ministry of course – they were all presumed dead. The Malfoys had escaped prison by the skin of their teeth after it was proved they did not have their wands for most of the second war and they gave enough information on their former allies to see many of them put away for life. At first Amy had cried about how unfair her match was but now she seemed sadly resigned to her,

"He leaves me pretty much alone. I don't even know why he applied for a match, he certainly doesn't seem bothered by me. Maybe I'm not his type. Whatever the reason I'm glad – hopefully we will be able to live separate lives," Hermione nodded sympathetically but said nothing, uneasily remembering the parts of the law that touched on the subject of repopulation, although they had been very unclear.

Hermione, predictably, had spent the entirety of her spare time researching the marriage law – reading up on the precedent for it, trying to gauge public opinion for it, researching the way that laws were overturned. She had even gone to Mafalda Hopkirk herself and expressed an interest in working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement so as to better fight the law from the inside. The older witch had thanked her for her interest and told her she would bear her in mind. Speaking to Mafalda always made Hermione nervous. She was never totally sure that the woman had forgiven her for borrowing her identity. It wasn't thought of as particularly good form in the wizarding world to polyjuice someone. Even so, Hermione had managed enough of a chat with her to work out that Mafalda herself was unhappy with a lot of aspects of the marriage law. She had told the younger woman that although she agreed with the principle - that the wizarding population needed protecting, and most of all believed that the diluting of pure bloodlines would drastically reduce the risk of further wizarding wars - she didn't feel comfortable taking away the free will of so many young witches.

"It's for the greater good, is it?" Hermione had asked, only partially managing to keep the bitter edge from her voice. Mafalda had just glanced sadly up at the photograph on her wall, of a younger version of herself arm in arm with Amelia Bones.

"Hermione, it wasn't my idea, and I can't pretend that it's perfect but if it stops any more bloodshed, then…well…maybe the greater good isn't such a terrible thing. And it was voted in by the Wizengamot,"

"Only by a slim margin," Hermione interrupted. In her opinion 52 votes in favour of the law compared to 48 against wasn't enough to ruin the lives of dozens of young women.

Mafalda just explained, like Kingsley had, that the Ministry was a democracy not a dictatorship. Hermione listened politely before reminding the department Head of her desire to move into magical law enforcement and excusing herself. Once back in her own office she wrote down a question at the top of her extensive notes on the marriage law: Not the idea of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement – who is behind this? Hazeldene? Or someone else in DMLE?

She tapped the point of her quill absently against her lip, running over the people she knew of who worked in magical law enforcement, wondering who was the mastermind. Of course, Harry might be able to help her, as the auror department worked closely with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

As if she had summoned him out of thin air, Harry popped his head around the door. His hair was still the unruly mess he had long since given up the fight of taming but now a few grey hairs were threaded through the black. He took a double take at Hermione, grimacing slightly,

"You've got something…" he waved vaguely in the direction of her face.

"What? Oh – terego," the ink that she had accidentally splashed onto her face transferred itself back into her quill, "thanks Harry,"

"No problem," he grinned, before noticing the papers piled up around her, "up against it?"

"I'm still trying to get to the bottom of this marriage law. I tell you Harry, something's not right!"

"I believe you," he reassured her, "But a witch can't live on ink alone. Got time for lunch at the Leaky? I really fancy a plate of their bangers and mash,"

"Washed down with treacle tart?" Hermione guessed. Harry just shrugged unapologetically, "they do make the best treacle tart outside of Hogwarts,"

"Well we'd best go then," Hermione laughed as she folded some papers into her bag and stabbed her quill into the bun she had in her hair, "I can ask you some questions while we're there,"

"Am I going to regret this?"

"Well you know the saying, there's no such thing as a free lunch" Hermione smiled, as they made their way to the floos.

However, it had turned out Harry had his own reasons for speaking to Hermione that pushed her questions out of her head. Barely had they placed their orders with Hannah Abbott, who was working behind the bar now, when he cleared his throat a couple of times. Hermione, who had long since recognised that as a sign that he wanted to say something, just regarded him over the gillywater she had grown partial to, and waited for him to spit it out.

"It's the anniversary next week. A big one, five years since the battle,"

Hermione's mind ran ahead. She suspected that she knew where this was going but she wasn't sure until Harry pulled a gold decorated parchment from his robes and slid it over the table to her. She recognised the Hogwarts crest at the top of the page

"Dear Harry,

I would be honoured if you could join us at Hogwarts on May the Second so that we can together remember the day that changed the world forever and unveil the memorial statue that has been erected in the grounds. I will be extending this invitation to both Mr Weasley and Miss Granger also, providing they are amenable to the other attending.

With all my very best wishes

Headmistress McGonagall"

"So we're only invited if we behave?" Hermione huffed.

"It's not like that. Professor McGonagall is in the order, she knows what's happened. She would have asked me anyway and we'd have all had a secret discussion behind you and Ron's back about who should go -"

"I know, I know," Hermione sighed, "She would be putting us in a difficult situation if we go and can't be civil to each other at such a public event,"

"You'd need to be more than civil, you're supposed to be betrothed," Harry reminded her.

"We are betrothed! The Prophet hasn't let me forget it," The newspaper had reported keenly the story of hers and Ron's betrothal and had been speculating wildly on their relationship and the fact that they were never seen out in public.

"Well maybe, a big public event, the two of you seen together – a show of solidarity - might shut them up for a bit,"

She was about to disagree but their meals arrived and Harry fell upon his as he always did with food - like someone was going to snatch it away if he wasn't quick enough. They ate in companiable silence as she thought on the idea. The journalists following her around were a pain but more than that, they risked uncovering their betrothal as a sham. There was no mention in the law about what would happen in that instance but Hermione doubted that the Ministry would congratulate her on her ingenuity and allow her to be on her way. The memorial would be the perfect place to put the rumours to rest. Plus she would like to go the Memorial event – not only to remember her friends but because it seemed disrespectful not to. But could she spend even an hour or two in Ron's company without going for him? The fact that he had saved her from having to marry Goyle or similar had softened her anger towards him but only very slightly. Most of the event would be speeches and similar so at least they wouldn't have to talk much but even the idea of being in his company was causing her to hack at her fish and chips with alarming viciousness. And besides, Ron wouldn't stand for it. She had heard what he had said - "no couple stuff".

Harry watched in amusement as Hermione snorted to herself and shook her head,

"He's said yes. He wants you to go together," he said softly, correctly guessing the direction of her thoughts.

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing! Honestly!"

Hermione wanted to stamp her feet and cry. What was Ron playing at, saying yes? He had said no couple stuff! She was fine with that. She felt safe with that. She was supposed to be the mature rational one, not him. Now she either had to go along with it or she would look like a stubborn idiot.

"Hermione, the rumours are affecting him too. There was a two page spread last week about the fact that he's gay and you're helping him cover it up,"

"I know," Hermione smirked, a habit that she had picked up from Draco. She had enjoyed reading that one. Harry looked slightly shifty, as though that wasn't the full story, "What else?" she snapped.

"Well, Ginny did promise him a front row ticket to every Chudley Cannons game next season,"

"Do I get one too?" Hermione was tempted to demand one so she could gift it to Draco who she now knew to be a closet Cannons fan and make the two enemies sit next to each other all season, "Or do I get something else…help with my research perhaps?" she guessed, and was pleased to see Harry look embarrassed. She had guessed correctly.

"Hermione, they're putting up a statue of us. Dennis Creevey is going to be speaking. Teddy will be there, hearing what happened to his parents. Mr and Mrs Diggory. I've got to give a bloody speech for Merlin's sake. Don't make me face it on my own,"

"Alright, alright," she put her hands up, not wanting to hear any more, "but if we start fighting in the middle of the minute's silence, remember this was your idea,"

oOoOoOo

Rows and rows of chairs were laid out on the grass in by the lake. It reminded Hermione of Dumbledore's funeral and her eyes were drawn inexorably to the marble tomb. It was still as bright white as the day it was put in place, the damage done by Riddle mended flawlessly. The golden lectern from the Great Hall was in front of it, the eagle's wings glinting in the sunlight. It was a beautiful day, like so many beautiful days they had spent wandering the grounds or sitting in the shade of the beech tree by the water's edge.

She, Harry and Ginny had arrived early and after exchanging a few words with Headmistress McGonagall, had taken their seats in the front row so Harry could avoid being swamped by people who wanted to talk to him. Hermione couldn't help taking another glance at the empty place next to her.

"He'll be here," Harry whispered, although his eyes belied the confidence of his tone.

Hermione could see McGonagall looking over anxiously, as though she wanted to start. Hermione gave her a resigned nod. As the headmistress approached the lectern, Ron slid into the seat beside her.

"Cutting it fine aren't you?" Hermione whispered out of the side of her mouth.

"I'm here aren't I?" He whispered back, His were eyes trained to the front as Hermione risked a sidelong glance at him. He was wearing the strange mix of not quite muggle not quite wizard clothing that suited him so well – jeans and a faded cotton shirt thin with wear, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, with a richly patterned waistcoat over the top. The dragon hide boots he had been so keen to protect at their betrothal finished the look. His hands and sinewy forearms were covered in callouses and scorch marks. Next to him, in her dove grey dress robes and sensible heels, her hair pinned back sternly, she felt prim and buttoned up.

"Well don't do me any favours," she snipped. Ron turned to look at her, his brow furrowed in confusion, so she elaborated, enunciating as clearly as she could through narrowed lips "You're the one who wanted to come,"

"What? Harry said….?"

"Harry said what?" She demanded, starting to forget the need to whisper as realisation started crashing down upon her.

"So you didn't tell him you wanted me to come?" he hissed.

"About as much as you told him you wanted me to come, I suspect,"

In unison they turned to look down the line at Harry who was grinning apologetically, "it was Ginny's idea," he mouthed, pointing at her. For her part, she didn't look a bit sorry and gestured that they should hold hands, then acted out a camera clicking.

Any chance the argument had to escalate was stopped by Professor McGonagall clearing her throat, the magically enhanced sound echoing over the crowd. Hermione had to stifle a gasp as Ron reached over and took her hand. She looked up at him but he just nodded over at a camera that had been charmed to fly and was zooming around surreptitiously, snapping photos of the crowd.

She tried to be angry but as the speeches went on and more people spoke of their experiences of the war, she was glad of having him there. In fact, by the time Dennis Creevey – looking so much like his brother – had finished talking and invited them all to join him in a minute's silence for the war dead, she had to rest her head against his shoulder to stop herself from crying freely. Ron stiffened at first but she soon felt him relax. Harry patted her knee comfortingly and she grabbed his hand with her free one.

Finally Professor McGonagall returned to the stage,

"Thank you all, now please welcome Mr Harry Potter to the stage,"

Everyone started clapping. This was, after all, the main event – a rare public speech from the boy who lived but doesn't like to talk about it. Harry swallowed visibly before standing and addressing the crowd,

"Thank you, I'm honoured to be speaking to you on such a momentous occasion. I know that I'm supposed to talk to you about what I did in the war but I reckon you're all sick of hearing about that," a small laugh rippled across the crowd, "what I mainly want to do is to remember the sacrifices that so many made to ensure that darkness was banished from these walls, and the wider wizarding word.

I look across a crowd like this and see so many friends. My family. People I grew up with. People who I look up to. Those who I know offered to follow me into certain death. I see heroes. And yet I can't help but notice the spaces. So many gave up their lives for what they knew to be the right thing. Young or old, married, single, parents, children, wizard or elf. What unites them all is that they were good. And brave, selfless and united in their determination to serve the cause.

None of them asked for the war, or loved fighting, or wanted glory. They were just ordinary people, our brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons, who like so many of you here today, simply answered our world's call to duty.

No number of Orders of Merlin, or awards for service to the school, or statues can replace the hole left behind by our fallen friends but today I want to unveil a memorial to the Fallen Fifty in the hope that their faces will be remembered by Hogwarts students in years to come,"

With a flick of his wand, what appeared to be a giant invisibility cloak fell from the pale stone statue, revealing it to the assembled audience.

* * *

Sorry if this chapter seems a bit short but it was either have a hugely long chapter or split it into two. The second part of this will be coming in a couple of days.


	7. Chapter 7

**I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters mentioned.**

 **Thanks to my beta kabg01 for helping me with a few sticky bits**

The shimmering cloth fluttered to the ground to reveal a pale stone column. At the top there were three figures – Harry, Ron and Hermine, wands raised to meet in a central point. However, the main focus of the monument was the column itself. Into it were carved the faces of everyone who had died in final battle at Hogwarts against Lord Voldemort. Hermione could see the kindly face of her former defence against the darks arts professor and friend, Remus Lupin, smiling down from his position next to his wife. Further down, there was Fred Weasley. Already she could see the differences between him and George - where time had continued to work on the living twin. In another five years the difference would be striking. Despite her feelings of reluctance at being on a statue, it was beautiful, she had to concede.

Her, Harry and Ron were then presented with awards for services to the school but the audience's eyes were all drawn to the statue throughout.

After the applause died down, people started to drift out of their seats and into groups, talking, walking the grounds or inspecting the statue. Harry, Hermione and Ron were pulled to the base of the statue by a reporter from the Prophet that Hermione didn't recognise to take photos of them with the monument.

"It's a nice statue and all," muttered Ron, gazing at Fred's face, "just seems a shame that if you didn't die, you don't get to be on it," Hermione tried not to look surprised at the uncharacteristic thoughtfulness of his statement. "I mean, George was just as brave as Fred. Still, I suppose it would have to be a pretty big statue to fit everyone on it," he finished lamely, as though he had just remembered that he wasn't supposed to be talking to Hermione. She wasn't sure if it was being back in the grounds of Hogwarts, where they had shared their childhoods, their first kiss, that made this temporary truce seem possible, or just the need to keep up the public pretence.

"Can I have one of just the newly betrothed couple?" asked the photographer, keen to get the snaps that the wizarding world was waiting for. Harry, just glad to be out of the spotlight for a moment, dived away from them like he had seen the snitch.

"I'm really going to get that git for this," Ron grimaced after his retreating form, as he threw his arm around Hermione's shoulder.

"Be sure to give him a punch from me," she replied as she placed her hand on his chest, smiling to the camera. Whatever they felt for each other, they knew the parts they had to play here. They had taken similar poses countless times after the war for the cameras and they fell back into their practiced roles easily. Plus having Harry to be annoyed at seemed to unite them in something, no matter what else they disagreed on.

It was then that she saw Malfoy, standing next to Theo Nott. Both were dressed head to toe in black – seemingly unable to stop playing the villains, even though they had both very publicly distanced themselves from the dark side and been found innocent of any crimes by the Wizengamot. They had a clear area like an impervious around them and no one seemed like they wanted to look at them. Draco's eyes met hers, then flicked pointedly to her hand. She dropped it from Ron but it was too late; with a sneer, Malfoy turned away.

"How about a kiss?" the photographer asked tentatively, perhaps suspecting he was pushing his luck. Hermione froze.

"I don't think you're my type mate," Ron's words were lighthearted but his tone had an undercurrent that stopped the photographer asking again.

"I've got to go," Hermione said, and pushed hurriedly through the crowds after Malfoy.

When she found him, he was by the lake, his back to everyone else. She drew next to him, maintaining a safe distance that would not raise suspicions to onlookers.

"Where's Theo?" she asked, unsure of where else to start.

"He's gone chasing after that crazy blonde Lovegood girl – he's always had a thing for her,"

Hermione bit back the reminder that Luna had spent several months as a guest of the Malfoy's. At least that was how Luna always described it.

"Where's Weaselbee?"

"I don't know. Look, you know it's all just for the cameras, me and Ron,"

"It's just hard, being looked at like dragon dung on someone's shoe all afternoon and then seeing you fawning all over him,"

"I thought Malfoys didn't do jealousy?" Hermione repeated his own words back to him.

"I'm not jealous…I just….I just don't like to see it,"

"It's not like I've got a lot of choice. I'm not exactly fighting off pureblood wizards who are wanting to marry me" the thing that she had wanted to say to him was bubbling up inside her again and out of her mouth before she could stop it, "it's not like you…." She bit it back.

Draco looked shrewdly at her, "Not like I what?"

"If the answer doesn't immediately present itself to you, then you needn't concern yourself overly with the question," Hermione mumbled, eyes downcast.

"Oh come on, what kind of Ravenclaw shit is that?" Draco demanded, "not like I what?"

"Shh, people are looking. I'm sorry, this isn't the place. I shouldn't have said anything. I'll see you later,"

Before Draco could respond, Hermione strode efficiently away from him.

She slipped through the front door of the castle unnoticed and found herself an empty classroom to hide in. Perhaps this could be her thing, she mused. Hermione - the girl who hides in classrooms at parties. Gloomily she conjured up the little yellow birds that she was reminded so forcibly of. She didn't know why she was so angry with Draco, whether it was his petty jealousy overshadowing such a special day for her, or his complete failure to consider that there could ever be any serious future for them.

The birds had barely completed one twittering lap of the classroom when a click at the door let her know that she wasn't alone,

"Are you ok – woah, not those things again. I've still got scars from last time!" Ron backed up against the door.

Hermione flicked her wand and the birds vanished into an explosion of yellow feathers that floated softly to the ground. The sudden comprehension that it wasn't Ron who was the target of her ire for the first time in years felt like an electric shock.

"What are you doing here?" she sniffed.

"After you ran off from the photographer…I just wanted to check you were alright. I thought he might have upset you, you know, asking us to…" he trailed off, seemingly reluctant to even say the word.

"Do you think it's being back here?" she asked, as he clambered onto the desk to sit beside her, "why we aren't cursing chunks out of each other?"

"Maybe," Ron admitted, "or maybe it's the betrothal spell, or perhaps just hearing how much bother we've been causing everyone. I – I don't want to be angry with you any more,"

"Me neither," she admitted, realising for the first time that she missed her friend.

"We spent so many years fighting Voldemort with Harry then when that was all gone, it was like we needed someone new to fight and we picked each other,"

"It wasn't always like that. We had some good times together. The best. For a couple of years I thought, well…"

"…That that was it?" Ron finished for her in sad agreement, "I certainly didn't ever picture my life without you in it one way or another,"

"Do you think we can be friends again someday?" Hermione gazed at the chalkboard, which had the remains of what she recognised as a second year charms assignment on it.

"Friends?...I don't know,"

She turned to look at him and his eyes glittered with something that made her stomach flip over. He leaned towards her slowly, his eyes locked on hers.

Her heart rate increased, she was sure he could hear it. Was he going to try and kiss her? Surely he wouldn't dare! Time seemed to stand still for a moment and she felt like she had been hit with a Petrificus Totalus. He was still edging closer as Hermione tried to remember how to breathe. What the hell was he doing, she wondered, as she tried to remember the most painful jinxes that she wouldn't leave a mark. A small part of her brain tried to alert her to the fact that she was just sitting and waiting for him to try and kiss her instead of trying to stop him. He reached up gently, his hand in her hair,

"Got it," he smiled, leaning back.

"What?"

"You er, you had a feather in your hair," he held it up as evidence, looking uncertainly between her and the offending plume.

"Oh…thank you. But I think we ought to be getting back now, don't you?" she was brisk now, businesslike. She hadn't wanted Ron to kiss her. Of course she hadn't. Now he was back at a safe distance from her she was sure of it. Still, the fact that she had presumes he was going to embarrassed her horribly. For a moment Ron looked at her suspiciously, "People will be wondering where we are," and she hurried out the room before he could say anything.

As soon as they were outside and he had been distracted by Neville wanting to show him something, she made her way to the specially arranged apparition points as quickly as she could. It had been a lovely day, drama regarding her love life excepting, but she was tired and wanted to get away from the crowds. Only Harry saw her go, raising his hand in farewell and tilting his head in question. She smiled at him "I'm fine" then mimed a yawn to indicate she was just tired. He smiled and nodded and then she was gone.

oOoOoOo

Hermione looked up from her book with her heart in her mouth at the crack that echoed around her living room, causing an aging Crookshanks to leap heavily from her lap and totter off into the garden. Ron was standing in front of her, looking slightly confused,

"Huh? Didn't think that would work! Hermione do you not have wards over this place?"

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" She marked her page out of habit, even though she had been sitting staring blankly at the same page for the last twenty minutes, her mind on the very person before her. It had been the Prophet that had done it – their photos were all over its pages. The photo version of herself and Ron had been hugging and waving to her, smiling widely as if to show her how happy they were. She had incendioed the whole paper.

"Seriously? I just apparated right in," he had his wand out now, testing the magic

"Of course I've got wards! I'm not an idiot,"

Hermione was on her feet now, hands on her hips, yet Ron still towered over her. He almost, but not quite, managed to stifle his grin, his teeth flashing white and even.

"Shoe's on the other foot for a change,"

"I – I don't think you're an idiot Ron," Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration, "So can we just drop all of these jibes about it please,"

She didn't know why she was bothering. He didn't even seem to be listening any more, preferring to inspect the magical protection over her home. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of him clambering onto her sofa to extend his wand into the corner of the room. She took advantage his back being turned to run her hands over her hair and try and tame it slightly.

"You said I was stupid," he mumbled, his wand now between his teeth as he rifled through the rats nest of wires on the back of her television.

"I said what you were doing was stupid. There's a difference," Hermione huffed grudgingly, "and you still haven't answered my question – what are you doing here? And what are you doing to my aspidistra?" Ron was levitating the only pot plant she had managed to keep alive, and was peering underneath it. Hermione snatched it out of the air and hugged it to herself.

"I came to bring you this," He pulled the Award for Services to Hogwarts out from under his robes, "You left it behind yesterday. I was just going to leave it on your doorstep. I didn't think I'd be able to apparate right inside,"

"Oh, thank you. That was very…thoughtful," Hermione forced the words out. She wasn't sure whether she was disappointed that he had a valid reason so she couldn't sling him out or that he hadn't just wanted to see her, hadn't been thinking of her like she had of him. Ron was frowning, gazing around the room. He seemed to have finished his inspection.

"I'm confused, you seem to have some level of warding up but I was able to apparate right in. I can take a look at it if you like. I've seen major security breaches caused by patchy wards,"

"My wards are fine Ronald, you saw me cast them every day for months! I know how to put up a protective charm! I just didn't ward you out," She looked down and inspected her plant to hide the pinking of her cheeks.

"Oh – Oh!" Ron sounded surprised but she didn't dare look at him. He blustered slightly, trying to cover their communal embarrassment, launching into what Hermione suspected was his standard sales pitch, "Well, er, I could still beef up some of your spells if you like. We do a nice line in miniature foe glasses for by the front door so you can check it's safe if someone knocks. That's good for muggle intruders as well as wizards. I think I've got one somewhere, I could do install it now for you," he rifled through his pockets.

"Oh no, I don't think –"

"Free of charge," he smiled crookedly at her, "special discount for my betrothed,"

"Don't call me that!"

"Takes some getting used to, doesn't it. Even when I saw the photos from the memorial in the Prophet this morning, it took me a minute to work out who they were talking about," he didn't wait for her reply but headed to the front door, the foe glass finally located. Hermione followed, carrying the plant. She wanted to protest, felt that because Ron thought it was a good idea, it was her duty to disagree, but honestly, she couldn't find fault in it. It was very small and unobtrusive, she noted, as Ron held it up to the door, his wand pointing to each corner in turn to affix it to the wood. He was good at this, she had to admit to herself. It suited him.

"It wasn't that I wanted you to come in or anything. It would have been irresponsible of me to ward you out. It's just, you never know when there might be an emergency. Or something," she finished lamely.

"S'alright, you don't have to explain," Ron dusted his hands together, "all done. Now, do you want me to show you how it works?"

"I know how a foe glass works Ronald!" she stepped in front of him, her tone reminding her unflatteringly of being eleven years old and lecturing him on the correct way to pronounce Leviosa.

"Course you do," he smiled down at her ruefully, only the china pot and a handful of spikey green leaves between them. Hermione could feel her heart racing.

"I'd better be going then, I wouldn't want to bother you or your aspidistra any longer," he looked pointedly down at the plant, "See you around," and with that casual farewell, he opened the front door and made to leave the muggle way.

"Wait," she grabbed him by the forearm as he pulled the door closed behind him. He said nothing, just raised an eyebrow at her. Her toes were screwed up in her socks at discomfort over what she was about to say. The thing she liked to admit least in the world, probably to the person she would least like to say it to,

"I was wrong…. About you leaving the Auror Department, I mean. It was the right decision,"

"I know," he replied simply, and made for the door again. He was almost out, when he stopped again. His smile was tender this time. There was no malice there, none of the point scoring that marred so many of their conversations, "but thank you for telling me, it can't have been easy," and with that, finally, he left.

Hermione sank down against the door, her back sliding over the smooth wood, "you have no idea," she muttered.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm sorry this has taken so long I had a mental block over one or two sentences in this chapter and it took ages to clear. The next chapter is already written though so it won't be as long for the next update.**

 **This chapter hasn't been beta'd so please feel free to review/private message me with typos.**

Hermione was seated at the table at the Burrow, finishing the remains of her breakfast, book propped up on the honey pot. Ron came down the stairs, bleary eyed and slid into the seat opposite. They smiled sheepishly at one another for a moment, suddenly shy. The summer had been and gone since their betrothal and although they saw each other from time to time now – their family and friends had all stopped carrying on the pretence to each of them that the other didn't exist and now expected them to behave well enough to be in the same room as each other without hexes flying – they were still acting almost like strangers thrown together by circumstance. Nothing of their past was ever mentioned by either of them for fear of breaking the fragile veneer of peace that lay between them. Hermione had been wedding dress shopping for Ginny the day before and had been persuaded to sleep over so they could continue the planning.

"How did," "What are," they both spoke at the same time. He grinned at her and gestured for her to go first but they were both distracted by a noise at the open window and turned their heads to see two owls fly in. One dropped off today's edition of the Daily Prophet on the table before exiting as smoothly as it had come, and the other, Hermione was surprised to see, landed in front of her

She gave the owl a small scrap of bacon rind from her plate and he nibbled it gratefully as she untied the parchment. With trepidation she eased her finger under the regulation green wax seal belonging to missives from the ministry of magic.

 _From the Betrothals and Marriages Office, Repopulation Department_

 _Dear Hermione Granger_

 _It has come to the attention of the Repopulation Department that a small number of muggle born witches are attempting to avoid the newly introduced Marriage law by entering into sham betrothals._

 _We have received evidence that your betrothal to Ronald Weasley may have been falsified for this purpose and therefore we would be within our rights to void the match. However, if you wish to appeal against this, it would be appreciated if you and your betrothed present yourselves to the Repopulation Department of the Betrothals and Marriages Office at 2pm tomorrow._

 _Yours Sincerely_

 _Delores Umbridge, Minister for Repopulation_

"Umbridge is behind this?" Hermione exclaimed shrilly. Harry raised his eyebrows at her and she passed the parchment over to him wordlessly.

"Ron, we need to get ready, we have to go to the ministry tomorrow. We need to prepare" Hermione was working herself up into the sort of tizzy that hadn't been seen since she sat her NEWTS.

Arthur looked up, concerned, "What is it?"

"A scroll from Umbridge! Did you know she was running the Repopulation Office now? It says they think the betrothal is a sham and we need to present ourselves and appeal it or they'll void it and match me with some pureblood I shouldn't wonder," she turned her attention to Ron who was strangely silent.

"Ronald, are you even listening, we're going to have to go to the Betrothals and Marriages Office at 2 o clock tomorrow to tell them how in love we are!"

"But we submitted the papers in time, you two have taken care to be seen out together, I don't understand what's caused this?" Arthur mused, scanning the scroll Harry had passed on to him.

Ron looked up, his face like thunder, his eyes blue chips of ice boring into Hermione, "I think this might have something to do with it," and flung the Prophet across the table into her plate. In open mouthed horror, she watched a photographic image of herself strolling hand in hand with Draco Malfoy, play out over the page and read the headline **Golden Love Trio – War Heroine Hermione Granger is seen out with known Death Eater Draco Malfoy. What will her fiancé say?**

She swallowed hard as her heart tried to beat out of her chest and her throat threatened to clamp shut over the image of herself, clearly laughing at something Draco had said. She recognised it as the night that they had been to Spagnolio's - their first date, if that had been what it was.

"You and Malfoy?" Ron seemed incapable of more than a rough whisper.

"It's an old picture," Hermione's voice was pleading. There was a smaller photo of her and Ron at the memorial event further down the page. The words of the article blurred in front of her eyes.

"So it's over? At least tell me it's over with him. You're not seeing him any more?"

Hermione's eyes just dropped to her lap. She couldn't bring herself to say anything. A dull flush rose to her cheeks, giving the answer she dared not voice. She had been seeing Draco regularly. Never out in public obviously. And he never mentioned whether he had realised what she was talking about or asked again. But he would owl her to visit him at his house and they would check on the potion, arguing whether the addition or subtraction of one ingredient or another, or stirring a different way, would make a difference. Or he would turn up at hers, bringing oak matured mead, or flowers from his mother's garden, or the little pastries from the bakery in Hogsmeade that she adored. And he would try to get her to let go of the threads of restraint that she was hanging on to when it came to him. So far he had for the most part, failed, a strange sense of loyalty to Ron always stopping her. Part of her knew he was only doing it because he hated it when he couldn't get his own way but she could never quite seem to tell him to stop.

"Merlin, Hermione!" Ron's chair scraped back as he exploded with rage. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry and Arthur exchange an awkward glance. "You and Malfoy? You and that bloody ferret, of all people! What the hell were you thinking?"

"It's no different from you and Lav Lav, making fools of yourselves at that gala," poison dripped from her voice as she sneered the name of her erstwhile love rival, "it's no different to you and all the other sluts you're always in the paper with!" she was standing too now, although she didn't remember doing it, yelling back at him.

"No different? You really don't think so? Number one, they aren't death eaters, number two, I'm not trying to avoid a marriage law and number three, I wasn't supposed to be betrothed to you and out canoodling with them!"

"Canoodling, Ron, don't be ridiculous!" she pushed her hands through her hair in frustration, barely acknowledging the fright she must look – wild haired and red faced, screaming like a banshee. At least Harry and Mr Weasley had now decided to leave them to it and edged out of the room.

"It's right there!" he roared, throwing his arm out to the paper. She looked down and her stomach fell away to see Draco's arm round her waist, whispering something in her ear whilst she let out what looked to be a very un-Hermione like giggle.

"And what do you care? Other than your stupid macho pride that it's Malfoy? What do you care that I'm dating a death eater? What's it to you if I have to marry someone I hate and wants to kill me? Why do you even care Ron?" her voice betrayed her at the last, breaking slightly.

Ron just shook his head sadly, "I don't know," he admitted. He looked at her beseechingly for a moment, the fight sucked out of him as quickly as it had come, before turning on the spot and disapparating.

She sank back down into her chair, head in her hands.

"You and Malfoy, huh?" Harry sounded quite calm as he sat down beside her.

"Don't you start," Hermione groaned.

"I'm just confused, you two couldn't stand each other,"

"We still can't half the time. Maybe that's just my type. Men who hate me,"

"I don't hate you. Now come on, Hermione. Sit up at least, your hair is falling in the butter dish,"

Hermione sat up grudgingly. Harry was looking at her, concern painted over his face.

"Oh Harry, it's all such a mess,"

"Ron'll get over it, it's just his pride that's hurt. It's not like you two are a real couple is it? The Ministry is your biggest worry right now. You don't think Malfoy could have leaked the story to the papers do you? Now you'll be free to marry whatever death eater whoever's behind this wants to line you up with,"

"Thank you for stating the obvious Harry," she groaned, crossing her arms over her chest, "but no. Draco's an arsehole but he isn't a death eater any more,"

"How do you know? This whole...you and him...thing could be part of the plan?"

Hermione's eyes flashed angrily, thinking of the scar on Draco's arm, "What is it with you and Ron? It's like the Yule ball all over again! Believe it or not, some men do find me attractive without it being some kind of scheme,"

"I know that. I do Hermione!" he held up his hands defensively, "It's just, you know, it's Malfoy,"

Hermione took a deep breath to give her patience, "Harry, I know that at school you sometimes had suspicions that I didn't always believe. And sometimes, they were correct, but you and Malfoy -" Harry looked like he was going to interrupt but she held up her finger to stop him, "You and Malfoy have hated each other from the moment you set eyes on each other. He's made no attempt to do anything to you or hatched any evil plans in the last half decade. Is it completely without the realms of possibility that he might have changed, maybe grown up a bit?"

"Joining the Death Eaters isn't a childish lark Hermione!"

"Just drop it Harry, whatever's going on here has nothing to do with Malfoy,"

"But what he said to you, what he called you," Harry was only concerned, Hermione knew, but it didn't stop the irritation she felt.

"You know that Professor Snape said it to your mum and that he regretted it ever afterwards. Saying that word didn't stop him loving her," Hermione said gently.

"So it's love now is it?"

"No, of course not!" she huffed out in frustration.

"I just –"

"Stop!" Hermione raised her voice for the second time that day - a rare feat considering she was still in her pajamas, "I've got just over a day to try and come up with some way to overturn this law so unless you've got anything constructive to say, I'm going to go home and start planning,"

Harry said nothing, just pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. Taking that as a sign that the conversation was over, Hermione rested her hand gently on his shoulder for a moment before she left.

oOoOoOo

She had been poring over her books all day until her vision blurred and the words stopped making sense to her. It wasn't anything new that she was reading and she didn't see how it could help her. With Ron, maybe they could have gone to the ministry and tried to convince them that the photos meant something other than what they clearly showed, or that they were old pictures, that theirs had been a whirlwind romance, that they were madly in love….Hermione sighed, pushing the books away. Even if she knew where Ron had gone, she knew better than to try and speak to him when he was still so angry. Crookshanks weaved between her legs, rumbling loudly and she petted him absentmindedly on the head.

With a flash of green, Draco entered the room. He had a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky dangling from his fingers, half empty Hermione noted.

"Give me that," she snapped, snatching the bottle from him and taking a deep draught. Smoke billowed from her mouth as she coughed at the eyewatering burn of alcohol in her throat.

"You've seen it then?" he slammed the paper down in front of her. At the sight of the photos, the alcohol hitting her empty stomach threatened to make a reappearance. He slumped in a chair next to her, his grey eyes regarding her balefully,

"I've seen it, Ron's seen it, the Ministry's seen it. Is there anyone who hasn't seen it?"

"My mother," Draco chuckled darkly, "I instructed the house elves to hide any copy of today's Prophet from her and sent her off to the spa for the day. Someone will tell her though. I'm sure one of the hags she socialises with will delight in filling her in. They certainly seem to enjoy her misery over my father, this will be an extra treat for them,"

"So you've not come here to help me figure out what to do about the exposure of my betrothal as a sham to the entire wizarding world– something that will undoubtedly result in my having to be married off to one of your pals or sent to Azkaban," she spat the word, "but to hide from mummy,"

Draco paled, "They wouldn't dissolve your betrothal on the back of a couple of old photographs would they?"

"The letter I received this morning, from Umbridge no less, would suggest otherwise. They want Ron and me to attend a meeting tomorrow to discuss it,"

"Shhhhhit" the muggle swear word eased out from between his teeth, "What's Weaselbee got to say about it?"

"We had a row about it, he wasn't very impressed," Hermione admitted, taking another smaller swig from the bottle, "he disapparated – I don't know where he's gone. I can't imagine he'll be coming with me,"

"Shit," he muttered again, "For what it's worth Granger, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause all this trouble for you,"

"What do you mean?" she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

"Well," Draco looked uncharacteristically nervous, fiddling with a quill and charming it to spin around in mid-air, "When I chose that restaurant, I knew it wasn't exactly discreet. Ive seen photographers hanging around outside, trying to get shots of anyone famous. Obviously I didn't know about this stupid Marriage Law then, I just wanted to annoy Weasley,"

"You boys are all as bad as each other!" She shrieked, throwing her hand in the air, "I've had Harry going on at me that I should be careful that you're not only pretending to be interested in me as part of some kind of Death Eater plot! When are you all going to get over this childish feud with each other!"

"That's rich from you," Draco smirked, "I'm not the one who refused to talk to my ex for years at a time,"

"Only because your exes are probably your second cousins or something," she raged. It was only then that she had noticed that she was practically nose to nose with the blonde haired Slytherin. He smiled smugly, watching her lips,

"Merlin you're sexy when you're angry," he muttered, before pulling her body against him. She responded ferociously, pushing him down into the chair and straddling him. Hermione poured every ounce of frustration into the kiss as she ground herself into his lap. Without breaking the kiss, Draco reached down, grabbed the two sides of her blouse and yanked them apart. Hermione could hear the buttons hitting the floor.

"This was one of my best shirts," she growled, and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back to reveal his pale neck before biting and sucking her way from his jawbone to where his skin disappeared beneath his collar. Her rhythmic grinding had caused him to harden in his pants and she quickened her pace, desperate for the friction. Draco responded by yanking the shirt down her arms to her wrists without freeing her hands, leaving them pinned in the shirt behind her back, which made her back arch and her breasts jut forward to keep her seat on his lap. Draco didn't waste any time in assaulting her exposed flesh with his hands, kneading and stroking, starting the build up of unbearable pressure inside of her.

Hermione's tongue battled with Draco's as she managed to free herself of the shirt, allowing her to throw her arms around his neck and pull him even closer. Just when she thought she was starting to near an almost fully clothed orgasm, he picked her up, her legs wrapping automatically around his waist, and carried her upstairs.

Once they reached her bedroom he threw her down on the bed, shrugging off his robes and crawling up next to her, grinning wolfishly. This was what she needed, she thought, as she dragged his lips to hers; sweet oblivion. Time to forget about the stupid marriage law, and Umbridge and reality and Ron...damn. She cursed her overactive brain and buried her head in his neck.

"Are you going to get undressed or do I have to vanish your clothes - hey, what's wrong?"

Hermione pulled him back to her but it was too late, he had already seen the tears sliding out from under her eyelids. Sighing, lay on his back and pulled her onto his chest. She could feel his heart beating against her cheek.

"I'm so sorry. I can't do this," she whispered against his pale skin, "I can't go to the Ministry tomorrow to talk about my betrothal, fresh out of bed with you,"

"I could come with you – I could talk to Umbridge. You know, she's -"

Hermione cut him off. She couldn't bear to hear what he was going to say. Even if he offered to come to the ministry and propose there and then in front of the entire Betrothals and Marriages Office, which she doubted, her freedom belonged to them and if they dissolved her current betrothal they could, and would, marry her off to whoever they desired.

"I'll be fine Draco, honestly. I think I just need some sleep. I really am sorry, I didn't mean to..." she trailed off, unsure of whether she was apologising for kissing him, or for stopping. Both probably. She turned over in the bed to face away from him and held her breath, wondering whether he would try to argue with her, try to convince her he could help.

He didn't say any more to her, just lay there staring at the ceiling, arms tucked behind his head. After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione heard the creak of springs and him gathering up his robes, followed by the crack of apparition.


	9. Chapter 9

**Any characters or storylines mentioned here belong to JK Rowling and the world of Harry Potter**

 **Big thanks to my beta kabg01**

* * *

Hermione was not making any attempt to look as though she was working and was instead slumped at her desk with her head resting on a pile of parchments. After Draco had gone, she hadn't been able to sleep and had just laid in bed, watching the patches of light from the moon move across the ceiling. For once the intelligence that she had so taken for granted had deserted her, making her feel restless. At about five am, when the light had started to turn golden, and the birds began their morning chorus, she admitted had defeat and got up out of bed and headed in to work. The Security wizard had looked surprised to see her so early but the steely look in her eye prevented him from commenting on it. All morning she oscillated between panic, and indignation at every male wizard she had ever met. It was half past one and she was trying to decide whether to head to the meeting or go up to the floor above and hand her wand in when a shadow fell across her.

She sat bolt upright, praying it wasn't Amos Diggory. The thought that it might be Draco sparked a queasy thrill of excitement in her stomach but her mouth fell open when she saw it was Ron.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped.

"Well I thought I was here to help you out of a massive cock up of your own creation but if you'd rather I buggered off, then that suits me. I've got better things to be doing with my day than lying to the ministry about giving a damn about you. Perhaps your boyfriend's here to go with you instead?" he carried out a completely unnecessary and overly dramatic sweep of the office with his eyes.

"Oh you just love this don't you!" Hermione exclaimed, her hands in fists at her sides. Despite the rational part of her mind telling her that Ron was here, that he was going to help her and that possibly, just possibly, she had been in the wrong, she couldn't help herself getting angry at the infuriating man.

Ron stood with his hands on his slim hips "oh yeah Hermione, I love getting slapped by the girl I was seeing because she saw the betrothal announcement the Ministry stuck in the Prophet. I love being the laughing stock of London because everyone thinks you're cheating on me with Malfoy. I love the idea of lying to the Ministry, especially as their contract with Weasleys' Security Services is coming up for renewal. And most of all, I'm loving all of the quality time I'm getting to spend with you,"

"Alright, alright," she huffed, "I'm sorry,"

"That's the second time you've apologised to me now, you want to be careful."

Hermione smiled grimly, "Ron, we wriggle out of this today and you might even find me being grateful."

He reached out and touched the back of his hand to her forehead, mock concern on his face.

"Well, you've managed to fool Umbridge before. Do you think we ought to call her Professor?" Ron sniggered, his anger at Hermione seemingly dissolved in favour of facing a common enemy.

"I've got a list of names I want to call her that's as long as Merlin's beard, and Professor isn't one of them." Hermione growled.

They travelled in silence in the lift and then along the long, narrow corridor to the Betrothals and Marriages Office, but it wasn't one of the hostile, spiky silences that sat between them after some of their arguments.

As Hermione entered the room, she was thrown slightly. She didn't know what it was, just that the proportions seemed off - the room seemed smaller than it should be somehow. She gazed around, eyes narrowed, trying to figure it out, before putting it down to the sheer number of pastel shaded lace doilies, plates decorated with kittens and artificial flowers. Even Umbridge was capable of putting a simple stasis charm onto real flowers so she must actually prefer the plastic ones, Hermione realised curiously.

Umbridge was sitting with a whip thin, rodent faced man in a muggle pinstripe suit and tie that Hermione recognised as Aurelius Hazeldene, the head of the Betrothals and Marriages Office; behind an expansive, dragonhide topped desk. Two small wooden chairs faced the desk,

"Miss Granger, Mr Weasley, take a seat," Hazeldene smiled, gesturing to the uncomfortable looking chairs.

Hermione sat down and Ron followed, coughing furiously,

"Excuse me," he recovered quickly, "I'm just feeling a little hoarse," he eyed Umbridge, grinning in satisfaction at the way her face reddened from flabby neck up to the velvet bow atop her head, at the mention of the H word. The blush clashed horribly with her pink tweed robes, Hermione noted.

"I'm sure you're aware of why you're both here," Umbridge trilled.

"No idea," shrugged Ron, leaning back in the chair, his long legs sprawling out in front of him.

"Well firstly, I want to wish you congratulations on your betrothal. I was most surprised to hear about it, especially as it's common knowledge that the two of you have been on unfriendly terms for some time now. And the timing of your betrothal, just hours before the Marriage Law was announced, what a coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione bit, her deeply ingrained need to answer questions besting her once again, "It was a whirlwind romance. We did fall out but when we had a chance to talk again, we realised that the reason we were able to hurt each other so badly was that we loved each other so much. Deep down. Ron proposed and, well, I can't imagine spending my life with anyone else," she smiled and grasped Ron's hand, hoping that she hadn't overdone the 'kids in love routine' too much.

"Is that true Mr Weasley?" Umbridge asked, eyeing him like a vulture watches a dying animal.

Ron spoke slowly and earnestly, seeming to be choosing his words carefully, "Hermione Granger is the most intelligent, thoughtful, beautiful woman I have ever met. She's the first woman I ever loved, probably the only one, and I don't think I ever quite fell out of love with her, even when I hated her and we couldn't stand being within a mile of each other. She drives me wild, same as I do to her, but life's boring without a bit of excitement isn't it. I wake up every day, surprised that Hermione is my fiancé. And I'll swear all of that on veritaserum, " Hermione turned to look at him, heart pounding but he was just looking at his lap, the tips of his ears pinking. His acting skills were certainly improving, she marvelled. Umbridge just tutted at Ron's speech, looking sorely like she wanted to rock him house points.

"Miss Granger? I hope you understand how precarious your position is. The danger of sham marriages is a real one and goes against everything we are working towards. Therefore, we will do everything in our power to stamp them out. You always were well read as a child, perhaps you had time to peruse yesterday's copy of the Prophet," she slapped a copy of it down onto the desk triumphantly

"I try not to read the gossip pages Delores," she knew how using the older witch's first name, treating her like an equal, would infuriate her, "they are always full of lies. Frankly, I'm surprised you do, considering your views on honesty being the best policy," she put her hand, palm down onto the paper to let Umbridge know that she hadn't forgotten what she did to Harry.

"Forgive me, Miss Granger, perhaps I've been labouring under a misapprehension, are you claiming that these pictures aren't of you?"

"Of course they're of me, but if you look closely, there are Christmas decorations up in the window of the building behind us. These are old photos – they date back to before our betrothal. And your marriage law,"

Hermione could see Umbridge worrying the skin around her neck, sawing her hand back and forth over her skin, as she examined the picture. Hazeldene, who had been largely silent, didn't even bother to glance down at the paper and looked almost amused.

Umbridge looked furious and seemed to forget social niceties for a minute, "Have you had any sexual relations with Draco Malfoy or any man other than your betrothed since your betrothal?"

"No!" Hermione denied hotly.

"But you've wanted to," Umbridge pulled at her neck again in that same strange, unconscious movement.

Hermione was halfway out of her chair before Ron pulled her back,

"If she says she hasn't done anything that's all that matters. Thinking about things is allowed, surely. Or should I be confessing that I've got a Playwitch calendar up in the stockroom at the shop?"

"Still, I think –" Umbridge fluttered in her girlish voice.

"Delores," Aurelius Hazeldene drawled, "if she says she hasn't then that's all we can do,"

"I could fetch the veritaserum, like Mr Weasley said" she simpered. Hermione nearly retched at the way Umbridge was batting her eyelashes.

"Please do," she huffed, "and I'll still tell you the same thing. I haven't been having sexual relations with Draco Malfoy since I've been betrothed to Ron. I never have, in fact," she sat back, her arms folded. Unwelcome flashbacks to the night before, to just how close she had been to rendering that statement untrue, played through her mind.

"Oh – oh!" exclaimed Ron, grinning from ear to ear, "well there you go, surely she can't say any more than that!"

"There's no need for veritaserum, or any further interrogation. Ms Umbridge just gets a little….enthusiastic," his words slithered like a snake and in an instant, Hermione realised that he was the real danger here, not Umbridge, "the aim of our department is the repopulation of the wizarding world, the replenishing of magical blood, the forming of new bloodlines. We stand on a precipice, a knife edge Ms Granger, Mr Weasley, and it is down to the young – people like you, to save us from extinction, to prevent the magical spark from being extinguished."

The man was so charismatic, Hermione suspected he wore amortentia for aftershave. It took her a moment to follow the train of his thoughts,

"So this is a breeding programme?"

"If you must be so crude about it," Hazeldene acknowledged, looking unashamedly into her eyes.

"But that's barbaric!"

"It is necessary!" Umbridge hissed, her normal sweetness absent.

"But what's that got to do with us?" Ron asked

"As your affianced has guessed, I am sure, you two pose us a problem. Delores has outlined some of the reasons for this – the timing of your betrothal; the fact that you seem to enjoy the company of others a little too much; but also the fact that you seem to be making no progress towards getting married or reproducing. It's just a problem, being as you are both so famous – figureheads for your generation if you will,"

Hermione's hair was crackling with rage, "and I assume you have a solution for this 'problem' as you put it."

Hazeldene made a show of surprise, as though the thought hadn't occurred to him, "Oh, well. If you were to voluntarily enrol onto our programme, as a matched couple obviously, it would set an excellent example to other witches and wizards, as well as putting paid to any nasty rumours about the authenticity of your betrothal,"

"And what if we don't? Volunteer I mean," asked Ron, his face set in a stony mask.

Umbridge was positively gleeful, "But why wouldn't you want to? Surely if your betrothal is genuine, you were already intending to get married?"

"For argument's sake," Aurelius reasoned, spreading his hands wide to demonstrate the theoretical nature of what he was saying, "if it became apparent that a witch who met the criteria for the program was engaging in a sham betrothal to avoid complying with the law, the Repopulation Department would be acting within their power to dissolve the betrothal and match the witch with a suitable candidate under the Marriage Law. The wizard would be free to volunteer if he so wished, but that would be his decision," he finished slyly, watching Ron.

Hermione was about to bargain for time, to say they needed to speak to their families about it but Ron spoke,

"We'll do it."

Hermione gazed at him, open mouthed.

"Do you know what you're agreeing to?" she couldn't help herself whispering to him. His eyes flashed crossly at her.

"Oh here we go again. Hermione, I can read! And besides, Percy went through the whole thing with me –"

"I just –"

"Hem hem" Umbridge cleared her throat. Hermione had forgotten that irritating habit of her former professor.

"Just for clarity," said Hazeldene, "this would mean you would have to get married within a year of your betrothal,"

"Yes," Ron's chin jutted out stubbornly, "We never wanted a long engagement, did we 'Mione?"

"And you will submit yourself to regular medical monitoring, as well as accepting any help our trained healers believe is necessary to help you conceive?"

Hermione saw Ron swallow deeply but he reached over and took her hand, "we've always wanted a big family."

"Well, excellent then," Hazeldene leaned back in his chair, smiling. Hermione wasn't sure if he was happy to be getting what he wanted, or he had hoped for a different outcome, "Any questions? Or we can start drawing up the paperwork for the match."

"Just one," said Ron, "If we do all this – do everything you want – get married and go and get poked and prodded in the hospital, will you leave Hermione alone?"

"Of course, Mr Weasley," Hazeldene almost laughed, "We're not the villains you imagine, I assure you."

"Then sign us up."

oOoOoOo

"Mione?" Hermione questioned as they hurried out of the offices to the visitors' exit, which strangely enough for a building that was largely built underground, was at the top of a sweeping set of stone steps, several metres up from the street. From the outside it looked like a graffiti covered, derelict doorway, plastered with bill posters and thick with grime.

Ron grinned, "I thought it might make it seem more convincing, if I had a pet name for you,"

"I think we're the kind of couple that don't have pet names for each other, are we Won Won?"

Ron grimaced, "Maybe not. So that's it. We're getting married," his hands were in his pockets as he kicked a small stone and watched it skitter away down the steps.

"Sorry."

"S'alright. I kind of knew it wasn't going to be as simple as just getting betrothed and never speaking to each other again, didn't you?"

"I had hoped it would," Hermione admitted, wrapping her arms around herself tightly.

"Nah, nothing ever goes smoothly for us," he smiled, sadness crinkling around his eyes. He sat down on the marble step and Hermione followed suit. She sat closer than she would have done previously, their thighs touching,

"Still, thank you. You didn't need to do it for me. Especially as I messed everything up – with Malfoy, I mean."

"You can't help what you did before we were even betrothed. I'm sure the Prophet could print some pretty juicy pictures of me if they wanted to,"

"You aren't jealous?" Hermione was desperate not to poke the bear but she couldn't help herself, still not sure why he hadn't blown up that morning. She watched his ears for a warning sign but they remained resolutely pale.

"Oh yeah! Course I am – it's Malfoy isn't it. The thought of that git anywhere near you makes me want to rip his hands off and feed them to him. But I can't keep getting angry and flying off the handle at every little thing. Us wrecking our relationship and spending all that time hating each other, well, it gave me some perspective, made me see I didn't want to be that person any more. I spent all that time worrying I wasn't good enough for you, for my family, but I realised - I'm only second best if that's where I put myself."

"Just how many muggle self-help books did you read?" asked Hermione, her eyebrows practically in her hair.

"A few," he laughed. Hermione laughed too; glad to be able to share a moment of good humour with Ron. They lapsed into silence but it wasn't one of the painful, awkward ones of the past.

"Why did you come?" she asked eventually, her thirst for knowledge overcoming her desire for peace.

Ron looked surprised, "Like I said when we got betrothed, I don't wish you any harm. I know I might act like a prat some of the time. This mess isn't your fault, it's the Ministry. And well, we've always looked out for each other haven't we. Most of the time," he amended guiltily.

Hermione sighed heavily, "Ron, if this is some noble quest to make amends for abandoning us in the forest, I've told you hundreds of times, that's all forgotten. You came back. You saved my life in the chamber of secrets when that horcrux tried to drown me. I told you then, that makes us even."

"Well whatever it takes to protect you from all of this shit, I'll do it. I'd do the same for Harry."

"You'd marry Harry?" Hermione smiled

Ron pulled a face and they laughed again, before his face turned serious, "Look, Hermione, there's something I need to tell you."

Hermione started to protest, wanting to protect the delicate alliance that had formed between them, and scared of what might be coming along to shatter it,

"No, I need to tell you. I should have told you at the time only I promised I wouldn't…I said I wouldn't tell anyone and I haven't, not even Harry."

"You really don't need to-"

"It's about the joke shop. About me leaving the Auror department and going to work in the joke shop. I need to tell you the truth."

Hermione stopped arguing and listened. That had been the thing that had driven a whole stack of nails into the coffin of their relationship and piled so much straw onto the camel's back that its legs had collapsed under the weight of it. Things hadn't been perfect before, she couldn't deny it – they were too young, too famous, and too traumatised from the battle when they had both dived headlong into their relationship. But they had been just about keeping things going, treading water, when Ron had disappeared for nearly twenty four hours before returning home dishevelled and exhausted and dropped the bombshell that he had resigned from his work as an Auror to go help out in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

Hermione had been furious before he'd even walked in through the door, having spent his missing hours being at first terrified for his safety, then sure he had run off with another woman. She had tried to talk him out of it, sure that the head Auror would welcome back his protégé who had even beaten Harry in his Auror exams. He had said he just wasn't bothered about being an Auror any more and that if Hermione cared more about the job than him, then he could introduce her to some of his colleagues.

That was when the glassware started to fly and Hermione screamed at him that of all the idiotic things he had ever done, what he was doing was probably the stupidest. He went to stay at the flat above the joke shop that night, and never came home again. She wasn't sure why they had been unable to get over that particular row but, for Ron at least, the shutters just seemed to have come down. They had tried to discuss it but it had always ended in screaming matches, both of them flaying over old wounds with insults devised and rehearsed over glasses of firewhisky and in the dead of tearful, sleepless nights. It went on for months but felt like forever, until the night of the War Survivors Benefit Gala where they both went too far – both said things that Hermione hadn't even been able to repeat to Harry, and they seemed to reach a mutual conclusion to pretend the other didn't exist.

"I lied," Ron took a deep breath, "about not wanting to be an Auror any more. That wasn't true," his hands were fists on his thighs, the skin of his knuckles white and taut. Hermione felt like she was on the edge of a precipice, about to step off, "It was – I did it for George. So I could work with George. Mum had made some cauldron cakes and asked me to take him some. He wasn't expecting me. The shop was all shut up so I went up to the flat. He – he – he'd made it all look like an accident – set out his kit like he was trying a new product and it went wrong. But he never tested new potions or anything on his own, him and Lee always did it together, for safety. He was slumped down in the chair…his mouth was all blue and foaming. It was horrible. Even worse than seeing Fred, you know,"

"What did you do?" Hermione's voice was barely more than a whisper.

"For a minute I was in a flap, thinking where could I get a bezoar from. In the end I just pointed my wand at him and said Accio Poison,"

Hermione had always admired Ron's ability to think clearly in a crisis, when she herself sometimes fell to pieces – their first year incident with Devil's snare came to mind, "Well that would have worked."

"Made a hell of a mess though," he admitted, "he was raving for hours, not really with it. Shouting for Fred and talking to him like he was there. I didn't dare take him to St Mungos, I thought they might send him upstairs, with the Longbottoms and Lockheart. He was staring in the mirror, going on about it being the Mirror of Erised. Took me ages to work out what he was talking about."

Hermione felt tears spill out from her eyes and she wiped them away roughly.

"Eventually he came to a bit and just started crying. Said he couldn't bear being on his own any more, that he wasn't made to be on his own, that he wanted to be with Fred. I told him he wouldn't have to be on his own – that I'd be there. Next day he was pretty sorry about what he'd done. Begged me not to tell anyone – promised he'd never ever do something like that again as long as I didn't tell mum or dad – he couldn't bear to let them down. He said I didn't need to but I told him I'd go and work in the joke shop, that I was sick of being an Auror and that I had some really good ideas. I don't know if he believed me or he just wanted to. And you know the rest," Ron finished with a sigh.

"Oh poor George, I never knew –"

"And that's why he made me promise not to tell anyone," Ron cut her off, "he didn't want people feeling sorry for him. You can't tell anyone either now. Promise."

Hermione nodded solemnly, "Well I lied too, at the gala. When I said that I didn't care about seeing you with Lavender."

Ron chuckled, "I might not be the most observant guy in the world but the fact you were practically spitting fire when you said it, well, that was kind of obvious."

"Hmm, I suppose I was a bit worked up."

"A bit! It was like being attacked by about ten howlers at once!" Ron protested but he was smiling, "It's all glamours, you know. Lavender. Her skin. She got attacked pretty badly by Greyback at Hogwarts. She's a mess underneath, she told me. They taught her how to do it at St Mungos,"

"You aren't going to tell me it was an act of mercy for her too?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"She was crying about it and saying how no one would ever fancy her again and then all of a sudden we were kissing. I was in a bit of a state. I'd been pretty much living on firewhisky and muggle cigarettes since we'd split up. I think – I think I just wanted to make you jealous. To hurt you."

"Well it worked," Hermione felt tired to her bones, exhausted from the weight of talking,

"Sorry," he muttered.

"Oh dear, maybe it's catching, now you've apologised" she smiled tentatively, " What would you have done if Umbridge had fetched veritaserum back there?"

"Taken it. I was telling the truth," Ron smiled bitterly, "I do wake up surprised every morning that we're betrothed. I mean, it's ridiculous isn't it. To say you're intelligent, well that's hardly a stretch is it. And you definitely drive me up the wall," he nudged her with his shoulder. He didn't mention any of the parts where he had said she was beautiful or that some part of him had never stopped loving her, and Hermione didn't remind him. "What….er….what about you?" He asked with forced casualness.

"I was telling the truth too."

Ron didn't say anything more, just nodded in response. They sat in silence for a moment, letting the truth settle down around them.

"So what now?" Hermione asked eventually.

Ron jumped up and extended a hand to her, "I think we need to go and tell mum she's got a wedding to arrange."


	10. Chapter 10

**I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters mentioned in this story.**

 **Thanks as always to kabg01**

* * *

Despite Ron's initial confidence, Hermione had not been able to pin him down about when exactly they would tell everyone. She could understand his reticence – as soon as they told everyone, it would become real – and she herself was hardly keen to start the bandwagon that would end in her and Ron being married. So although she sent him the occasional owl asking when he thought they should announce the fact, she accepted his answers that the happy announcement could wait until all the family was together without too much argument.

Hermione's birthday had been uneventful – Molly had insisted she had come to the Burrow for a tea party and Hermione wasn't sure whether she was disappointed or relieved that Ron had been abroad and unable to attend but had left a ten galleon book token and a humorous card about toads for her. She had suspected that he had arranged to be away on purpose but Harry seemed to think he was doing something terribly important in Spain so she couldn't be sure.

Similarly, she wasn't sure how to feel about the fact that Draco didn't send her anything. She'd dashed him off a quick owl after her appointment at the Ministry to tell him that everything was ok but had avoided him so as not to have to tell him she was going to have to marry Ron. So the day after her birthday, when she received a note from him telling her that he'd pick her up at 10 pm that night, and to dress up, her heart leapt to her mouth.

She chose a midnight blue gown that she had worn to collect her Order of Merlin, First Class and dragged out getting dressed as long as she could but by half past eight she was ready, unused to such a late start time to her dates. Where could he be taking her? She was beginning to regret the neutral gift that she had given him for his birthday, of a solid silver crucible for potion making. She added a few overnight items to her small clutch bag that had been treated in the same way as the beaded bag, just in case. Not that she thought it was a good idea to spend the night with Draco. Since her being betrothed to Ron she had managed to hang on to her heart and her principles, just about.

She was almost nodding off over a book when he arrived, looking as handsome as she had ever seen him, in his black and white dress robes. Her resolve to keep things chaste between them until after the law was overturned almost crumbled there and then. Luckily Draco seemed to be on a tight schedule and whisked them immediately back out of the house.

Hermione's curiosity became unbearable when Draco took her to the international apparition point in the Ministry.

"Where are we going?" she whispered insistently, as they stood in the queue, awaiting their turn.

"Just wait and see, nosey," Draco smiled, but his eyes were tight – a security wizard had just met his eye and begun whispering to his colleague. A prickle of unease ran up Hermione's back as she saw the men staring at them. Friend or foe? Fan or danger? she wondered to herself, the muscles in her legs tightening in the familiar preparation for flight.

"Could you step this way for a moment please Sir?" one of the guards appeared at Draco's elbow and gently steered him away from the line. Hermione hurried after them, her hand reaching for her wand, until they were in the privacy of a small alcove.

"Apologies for the inconvenience, Sir," said the other security wizard, looking anything but, "However, the International Apparition Security Act 1999 prevents Death Eaters from crossing international borders," Draco looked coldly down at the dumpy man in his ill fitting robes.

"That's not right!" Hermione exclaimed, "You have to have proof that he's a Death Eater. And the law can be waived if the wizard or witch has reformed,"

"You familiar with the International Apparition Security Act?" the taller of the two guards scratched his head with his wand, eyeing her suspiciously. Hermione couldn't decide if he knew who she was and was wondering what she was doing with a Death Eater, or he recognised her but just couldn't quite place her.

"I know a bit about it," Hermione admitted. Draco snorted beside her

"Why does that not surprise me? Bit of bed time reading was it?" he teased.

"If you could just show us your arms Sir, you can be on your way," the short one butted in, seeming to be relishing the chance to have a little power over a dark wizard.

Hermione felt Draco stiffen beside her "Why should I –" he started

"Just show them," she sighed, her hands on her hips, "I'm sure they've seen a splinching wound before – they do work at an apparition point after all," she rolled her eyes at the pair, "it hasn't healed very well and he's so vain about it. You're ok with seeing wounds aren't you? The weeping sores have all gone now," she asked them nonchalantly, biting back a smile as they both looked a bit uncertain.

Huffing and puffing, Draco pulled back both of his sleeves, turning his arms slowly enough that they could see there was no dark mark, but not letting them look long enough that they would question the livid scar and whether it was a simple case of splinching.

"Sorry for wasting your time Sir, you can't be too careful," the taller one, who Hermione suspected was the 'good cop' led them back to their place in the queue. Draco said nothing but Hermione could see a muscle moving in his jaw. A few moments later they took their turn on the raised platform and Hermione gripped his arm tightly as he threw them into the pressured darkness of apparition.

The twinkling lights of a city spread out before her but for the moment all that she knew was that she was up high somewhere and it was early evening.

"You look beautiful," Draco murmured into her ear as he stepped close behind her, handing her a glass of champagne as the surveyed the view together out of the vast glass window, "Sorry I didn't tell you before but I wanted to get us here. I was worried that border control would be a pain," his lips pressed together disapprovingly.

"New York?" Hermione asked wondrously, picking out a few buildings in the familiar Manhattan skyline.

"Is it ok?" Draco asked, seeming unsure for once.

"It's better than ok! But where are we?" Hermione peered downwards, trying to get her bearings, "Are we…are we in the Statue of Liberty?"

Draco's confidence seemed to return, "The Torch. It's quite exclusive but with any luck, no one will mistake you for waiting staff," he smirked.

"But the torch has been closed for years to the public. Is the statue even open any more?" her eyes drifted over the scar in the skyline.

"The Torch was bought by the Wizarding Community back in 1916. It's been one of the world's most exclusive Wizarding restaurants ever since,"

"Wow," breathed Hermione, her usual eloquence leaving her momentarily.

"Granger, you're not…speechless are you?" Draco feigned concern, "Do you need me to call a healer?"

"It's just –" she trailed off again.

"I know, I know, the sight of me all dressed up like this can be a bit overwhelming. Let's start with a simple 'you look gorgeous Draco', then we can move on to complimenting more specific parts of my physique later."

Hermione just snorted and turned to look over the restaurant. The high burnished copper ceiling was clearly the interior of the torch, from which crystal chandeliers hung. The circular room was painted in muted dark colours, and there were only five tables, each with an excellent view out of the panoramic windows.

"Your table's ready Sir," a wizard in liveried robes padded over the thick carpet to lead them to it. Hermione allowed Draco to pull her chair out for her before he slid in opposite. She could tell he was having a hard time hiding his delight at the place and her enjoyment of it.

"Oh," exclaimed Hermione, surprised, as she looked over the menu "The food's magical."

"Witches and wizards eating magical creatures isn't as popular as it used to be, but a lot of older folk still don't trust any of that muggle muck," Draco grinned.

"Yes, well," Hermione said, disapprovingly, "That's why the Golden Snidget is nearly extinct. That and using them for Quidditch."

"I wouldn't bother with one of them anyway, horrible bony things. Have the Bicorn, it's the best steak you'll ever have. And they're basically just cows with funny shaped horns so if you're going to grumble about the sentience of magical creatures, you can save yourself the breath," he flipped his menu closed decisively.

Hermione, who had been just about to mention that very thing just huffed lightly and took another sip of the creamy champagne.

"I learned that from our excellent Care of Magical Creatures lessons," Draco grinned, obviously trying to get a rise out of her. Aside from teasing her about her love of learning, it was rare for him to talk about school. Hermione often wondered if it was because he was ashamed of what he had been like then but she had never felt able to ask.

"Hagrid was a very….passionate teacher," was her dignified response, "and is a very dear friend of mine, so please be careful what you say."

"You know, I was always a bit jealous of him, in a funny sort of way," Draco mused after the waiter had been to take their order. It was all Hermione could do to not spit her champagne across the table as she dissolved into giggles.

"Yes, you seemed to really admire him at school! What was it, the fact he got to spend all day looking after Hippogriffs?"

"Oh ha ha, well if you must know, in a way, yes. Not the Hippogriffs as such, but he always seemed so happy, getting to do what he loved every day. I think that's why I used to try and spoil it for him."

Hermione felt the dangerous undercurrent of the things they didn't discuss ripple darkly closer to the surface. It was best to steer the conversation on to safer grounds, "So what did you want to be when you grew up? I'm sure there could have been a gamekeeping apprenticeship."

"I thought I wanted to play Quidditch professionally but I was never really good enough. Even that I think was only because I wanted to rub Potter's nose in it. Mostly I just wanted to be happy," he stared morosely at the table for a moment, "How about you? What did you want to be? Don't tell me you weren't jealous of Madam Pince?"

"I wanted to do some good in the world," Hermione announced grandly, laughing at herself a little.

"Well you're certainly doing that," Draco smiled at her, a curious look in his eye.

The waiter brought over their starter: bowls of a clear broth that flowers bloomed over the surface of as they watched. Hermione took a deep breath of the summery scent drifting up from the bowl. She looked up at Draco to see if they should start but he was still just smiling. He raised his glass to her.

"To you, and all the good you do in the world," he chuckled, but completely without malice or sarcasm.

Hermione tipped her own glass to him, "To you, and being happy," she smiled back.

The food was the best that Hermione had ever eaten in her life and the conversation was as free flowing as the champagne.

"Got room for dessert?" Draco challenged, as their dinner plates were vanished away.

Hermione groaned, "maybe something light," she admitted, hoping that the puddings were not as stodgy as at Hogwarts.

"I know just the thing," Draco beamed at her, "It was my favourite when I was younger. I haven't felt able to order it for a while," he beckoned the waiter over and murmured in his ear.

Draco seemed a little too pleased with himself – it irritated and amused Hermione in equal measures. He kept drumming the table and looking towards the kitchen eagerly every few seconds. After a few minutes, the waiter returned bearing an inordinately large cloche which he placed on the table between them

"What on earth – it looks massive Draco," Hermione protested, earning her a lewd wink that made her face heat up and her tingle. However, before she could say any more, the waiter removed the cover flamboyantly and Hermione pealed out a laugh of childish delight. Small pink spheres of something fluffy were levitating about a foot above the table.

"You said you wanted something light," Draco grinned, "You can't get much lighter than that,"

"But there's no spoons," Hermione scanned the table before trying to meet the eye of a member of serving staff.

Draco just rolled his eyes, "are you a witch or not?" he teased, pulling out his wand. He directed one of the spheres towards her mouth, "open," he instructed, and expertly directed it into her mouth. Hermione almost moaned out loud with pleasure at the small sweet. It was somewhere between mousse and candy floss in texture and tasted somehow of strawberries, and something floral, all at once.

"My turn," she grinned, edging one towards Draco. He stared directly into her eyes as he opened his mouth. Distracted, she twisted her wand slightly at the end, causing the sphere to graze his lip before bouncing off. His indignant expression, coupled with the dash of powdered sugar across his chin was enough to send her into hopeless giggles.

"It was an accident!" she laughed weakly, wiping the tears from her eyes as he brandished his wand "I didn't mean – oh!" one of the sweets hit her squarely on the nose. He laughed too then, not a smirk or a snigger or something controlled for propriety's sake but a proper hoot of laughter.

"You've got a little something on your nose," he joked as she wiped her face with her napkin. He didn't seem to care that some of the other diners were glancing over at them, curious as to what was causing the amusement.

"Yes well, you've got something...there," she waved towards his lips.

He reached over and grabbed her hand and used the pad of her index finger to rub the sugar from his mouth, before popping her finger into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it.

It was as though he had pulled a rip cord – hot desire bloomed in her belly. She blushed but refused to look away first. Suddenly, he flicked his wand and one of the spheres hit her on the cheek and bounced onto the table where he snatched it up and ate it, then used his wand to levitate another one into his mouth.

"Hey! What about me?" Hermione asked.

"You're sweet enough."

Hermione humphed and tried to hide the smile on her face.

Eventually the plates were cleared away and the firewhisky that Draco insisted upon 'for the road' was drunk. The waiter hovered nearby and Draco handed him a small black token with the Malfoy crest on it. He examined it cursorily and returned it to him. The food in Hermione's stomach turned over. She had forgotten, of course, carried along on champagne bubbles and flirting, that the meal would be funded from Malfoy coffers. Lucius's money.

"I'll pay half," she insisted, trying to work out how many of her collection of rare books she would have to sell to fund it.

"It doesn't really work like that," Draco sighed, as though he had been expecting the protest, "Not just anyone can come and book a table here and buy a meal. You have to pay for membership, then you can come whenever you like. If it helps, my membership was bought for me by my mother's parents when I was born,"

"That's ridiculous!" laughed Hermione, astonished. But it did help, somehow, knowing that Lucius had no hand in it.

"I've also got membership to the hotel hidden behind Niagara Falls," Draco wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. If he had expected her to laugh again, he was disappointed.

Hermione pleated the thick damask napkin in her lap, knowing that she had to burst the happy bubble that Draco had created, "I'm getting married, Draco. Ron and I, we're getting married. That was the Ministry's condition, why they didn't kick up a fuss about those photos of us."

Draco just looked at her aghast, "They can't –"

"It's the law," she smiled sadly, "and no amount of exclusive memberships, or secret handshakes, or generous donations is going to change that. Not for me anyway, They want to make examples of us."

"You have no idea of how generous a donation I could make," Draco managed to make it sound somehow suggestive and Hermione smiled in spite of herself.

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"For not being cross," she reached over the table and held his hand.

"We're not all like your idiot future husband, losing our rag over every little thing. So when is the happy event then?"

"Ugh, I don't know. We've barely spoken about it – I think he's avoiding me so we don't have to tell anyone. Next year some time I guess."

"Plenty of time for you to overturn the law," Draco smiled confidently at her, as though that was the end of the matter.

"He's a lot better now though, Ron I mean," Hermione felt the need to defend him, after all, although he hadn't exactly been falling over himself to repair their friendship, he had agreed to get betrothed to her, and then married, almost without batting an eyelid. And he had come to the Memorial Day because Harry had told him that she wanted him there, albeit with the added encouragement of quidditch tickets. It rankled with Hermione slightly that Draco hadn't once offered to help her with her research to overturn the law, let alone made any real effort at any more practical help, "Besides," she added, feeling mean spirited, "Actions speak louder than words."

"Meaning what exactly?" Draco asked in a tone that was too casual to be genuine.

"Well I mean that Ron would never bring me to a place like this, he'd never flirt with me outrageously over dessert –"

"But I wouldn't marry you, to get you out of a hole, is that it?" he met her eyes challengingly.

"If that's how you want to put it," Hermione refused to look away, although her insides were crawling in mortification, the longer he stared impassively at her.

"And that's what's been pissing you off all this time isn't it. You think it's that easy for me? That I can forget all my obligations, my family name? Who I am?" he placed his palms flat on the table, grounding himself.

"Oh so it's about blood status after all is it?" she hissed.

"No!" Draco uncharacteristically raised his voice, earning several curious glances from neighbouring diners, "I mean who I am – what I am! What I was. You saw how those idiots were at the apparition point – do you think that's a one off? You know who my family associates with. I just – I wouldn't be able to make it safe for you,"

"I don't need you to save me," Hermione crossed her arms sullenly.

"No, you've your pet Weasel to do that, haven't you," he smirked coldly, all trace of lighthearted amusement now gone.

"Malfoy – Draco. Just please….stop. I don't want to do this. I don't want to take this lovely thing you've done for me and spoil it. I want us to still be friends," Hermione blinked back the tears that were threatening to pool in her eyes. He nodded slowly but neither one of them seemed to be able to start up a conversation on safer ground.

"Time we were going then, perhaps," Draco smiled sadly, and stood to pull her chair out again.

They travelled back as they had arrived, in silence, but without the happy anticipation to buoy them along. The apparition point back in London was deserted due to the late hour. They walked together to the floos, Draco with his hand on Hermione's elbow, stiffly formal.

"Do you need me to…..?" he asked, nodding his head towards the fireplace.

Hermione painted on a smile, "No thanks, I'm quite capable of flooing myself home."

"Course you are," Draco murmured with aching sadness, smoothing a curl away from her cheek with his fingertips. He leant down and kissed her softly on the forehead before turning and walking away from her. He didn't look back. Neither of them seemed able to say the word that they both felt heavy in their hearts.

Hermione's first tears fell onto the ashes in her own hearth. She didn't let herself cry for long, just a few bitter tears for the goodbyes neither of them had been able to say, as the first pink tendrils of the new morning edged themselves in through the window.

 **Please review - even if only to shout at me!**


	11. Chapter 11

**All of the characters and plots mentioned here belong to JK Rowling**

 **Thanks to my beta kabg01**

 **This chapter is dedicated to as thanks for the reviews and also as an apology for this chapter not being published quite as soon as I said it would be.**

 **PS - thank you so much to everyone who let me know I'd posted the wrong chapter. Oops! Just checking you're paying attention :-)**

* * *

In the end, it wasn't until Molly's birthday that they announced it to everyone. Hermione suspected that Ron had saved it until then to distract his mother from the unimaginative gift of a new pair of dragonhide oven gloves but after seeing the tears of joy streaking down the Weasley matriarch's face at the news, she felt glad they had waited, if a little bemused.

"Doesn't she know we're being forced into it?" she muttered out of the side of her mouth to Ron.

"Yeah but she reckons that we'll forget that soon enough and fall in love with each other," Ron whispered back, his mouth stretched in a rictus grin.

"She's just happy she won't have to wash your underpants any more, I suspect."

Molly had gone straight away to owl the good news to Bill and Fleur who were not arriving until the big party that evening.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed, "I wash my own underpants, thank you very much!" at a raised eyebrow from Hermione he reddened, "Or at least, I send my laundry out to a washerwitch, and that's pretty much the same, isn't it? Or are you offering to do my laundry for me, once we're married?" he elbowed her as he sing-songed the words.

"I most certainly am not," Hermione struggled to keep her face straight.

Ron feigned surprise, "Keeping my clothes clean and presentable is just one of the many wifely duties you'll be expected to complete," He must have seen the look of shock on Hermione's face and realised what she thought he had been alluding to, because he blustered on, obviously keen to make her realise that he had only been talking about housework, "Surely Hermione Granger has mastered a simple laundry spell?"

"Well, as it happens, I believe very strongly in the creation of employment for less able….that is to say….it's good for the economy…"

"You send your washing out to be laundered too don't you!" Ron exclaimed.

"Shhh, just don't tell your mother," Hermione put her hand over his mouth to stop his overloud voice giving the game away. Ron just laughed, a great guffaw that flowed up from his belly, shocking Hermione into uncontrollable giggles. It was years since they had laughed together like this. It made her feel younger – lighter.

"When you've quite finished, we've got a lot of work to do before the party tonight," Molly tried to sound stern as she folded her arms over her chest but Hermione saw the look of delight at the two of them laughing together, that she wasn't quite able to hide.

Ron murmured, close to her ear, "She's going to be unbearable isn't she?"

"Oh yes," agreed Hermione.

It took several hours, a thorough degnoming of the garden, and Ron using almost every curseword in his extensive and imaginative range, but Mrs Weasley was finally happy with the house. She had even managed to find time to give Charlie the haircut he dreaded but had come to expect to receive every time he visited. Every surface gleamed, although the majority were now groaning under the weight of punch bowls, overflowing platters of food and cauldrons filled with sweets. George had disappeared for a good while into the top field and returned smelling strongly of gunpowder but had refused to tell anyone what he had been doing. Mr Weasley had enchanted pumpkins to float overhead, their grinning faces emitting a welcoming orange glow. Ginny had managed to add to the banners that she had previously made, wishing Molly a Happy Birthday so they now had "Ron and Hermione are Getting Married," tacked on to the bottom. She said it was easier than making a big announcement about it and that Ron would only make a prat of himself and accidentally insult Hermione if he had to give a speech.

As people started to filter in, they looked up at the signs and either nodded, or made some comment to their partner. No one shouted about what a terrible idea it was or that it was clearly a fake and as the room filled up, Hermione started to relax. Ron had insisted on staying by her side to act the part of the dutiful fiancé, in case anyone had any questions but other than a few congratulations, they had been left largely alone. Hermione suspected that was something to do with the fact that she had heard Molly tell Percy to give the lovebirds some peace and quiet, which had made her shake her head in disbelief at the matronly witch's persistence. Still, they had spent some time chatting to Harry and Ginny, which had reminded Hermione how well the four of them fit together, and Ron had been making her laugh with the low voiced commentary of what other people were doing that it hadn't been a complete disaster.

Aunt Muriel approached the pair of them, looking happy for once,

"Hermione, let me welcome you to the Weasley family. I always said Ronald was a fool to ever let you go and now it's put an end to him parading around in the papers with all of those glamorous bimbos. I always thought he was punching above his weight with you, especially now you've stopped slouching. Of course there's nothing you can do about the ankles but at least you can wear a full length dress robes for the wedding. I always think they look so much nicer than those common muggle wedding dresses.," Hermione smiled rigidly and gripped Ron's hand, aware that Muriel had managed to insult both of them in less than a minute.

"Thank you Muriel," She ground out from between her teeth but she needn't have bothered – the elderly witch carried on as though she hadn't spoken.

"You can have one of the Prewett family rings when you get married, of course. Fleur decided that she would rather wear her grandmother's wedding ring, I think it was something French looking and George's new wife, if that's what we're calling her, seeing as they haven't been married in the proper wizarding way, well she's got some muggle monstrosity. But Ronald will have to arrange for you to take a look at them in my vault at Gringotts," she paused as though expecting recognition for her magnanimity. Hermione was just about to thank her but Ron spoke for her,

"Thank you Aunt Muriel that's very kind of you but I'm not sure Hermione wants to wear a wedding ring at all."

Muriel looked horrified and Hermione could see her mentally amending her previous good opinion, "Oh, well. Harrumph! I'm sure that's all very….modern."

"Nonsense!" Hermione exclaimed frantically, "I'd love to have a look at them and of course I'll be wearing a wedding ring. I'm not sure what Ron's –" Ron was squeezing her hand very hard, in rapid bursts, presumably trying to warn her about something. In spite of her annoyance, Hermione was almost impressed – for Ron, that was quite subtle. Taking the hint, she backtracked wildly, "although Ron might be right. We haven't really discussed it. I've always enjoyed that muggle fashion of having matching tattoos instead of rings,"

Muriel's eyes bulged out of her head so far that Hermione thought they might pop as she choked and spluttered on the sip of firewhisky she had been taking. Ron took the moment of distraction to steer Hermione from the crowded room and onto the veranda. It was quiet and still outside, a chilly dampness draping the grass in dew. Hermione could see Teddy and George in the field, catching fireflies in a fishing net and putting them into a large jar.

"Don't you think we should have stayed to check she was alright?" she glanced back over her shoulder to see if she could see Muriel.

"You don't get to 114 years old without being able to look after yourself," Ron muttered, "besides. She was just about to really go into one. Tattoos, Hermione? Really?" They both burst into fits of laughter.

Hermione giggled weakly, holding her sides, "It was the first thing that came into my head! Are you going to tell me what all that was about anyway?"

Ron didn't answer immediately but his face turned more serious. He sat down on the step and pulled one of the small purple flowers from the flutterby bush, shredding it behind his fingers. Hermione sat down next to him and waited.

"We're going to need to be careful. When we get married, I mean. Wizarding marriages aren't like muggle marriages. Wizards are bonded for life. There's not really any such thing as wizard divorce, at least, not without petitioning the Ministry and even then it can be dangerous apparently," Hermione braced herself for one of Ron's apocryphal tales about someone like a great uncle who got a divorce and was never the same again and was not disappointed, "I heard of a man down in the village who divorced his wife and he died."

"Nothing to do with the poisoned ready meals she left in the freezer," Hermione scoffed.

"You can laugh all you like but you definitely shouldn't accept one of those rings. Bill went and took a look at them in Auntie Muriel's vault when him and Fleur were getting married. He said they've got old magic in them and there was no way Fleur was going to wear one,"

"What did they do?"

"He wasn't sure exactly but he could detect something to do with fidelity. Like if you had an affair, something nasty would happen to you. And lifelong commitment. He said that if Fleur wanted to run off and shag someone else, that was up to her and it wasn't for a piece of jewellery to run their marriage,"

"That sounds eminently sensible."

"I just thought…you know….well, you don't exactly want to be married to me. You don't even like me much. You might meet someone….and" Ron's voice was tight, like something was hurting him, "well, you know. Plus if you've set your mind to overturning the law, well, then I don't fancy the Ministry's chances of it standing for long. I wonder what will happen to all those married couples then."

"And the children," added Hermione morosely, her eyes on Teddy as she leaned her head against Ron's shoulder.

"Fucked up, isn't it," Ron sighed.

For a long moment they sat in a comfortable silence. It felt like a million years ago in another world since they had been able to do that last.

"I'm going to ask George to be my best man," Ron said at last.

"Not Harry?" Hermione looked over at the capering figure in the distance.

"I thought you'd want Harry to give you away," he glanced at her, almost nervous and Hermione was touched by his thoughtfulness until he added with a grin, "Harry can be my best man next time I get married."

Hermione huffed and stood up from the step, "Great. Good to know. Glad we had this chat. Now I'm going to check I didn't give Muriel a heart attack."

"I'm joking Hermione," he assured her, standing on the step below her so they were eye to eye. He was too close, Hermione's brain protested. She could see the flecks of navy in his blue eyes, smell the scent that instantly transported her to Slughorn's dungeon and a potion making competition. It terrified her.

"Well that's just it isn't it, this whole wedding's a joke, and then in a few months, or years, or whenever, when it's overturned you can just swan off and marry someone else and I'll be stuck with a load of Weasley kids."

Ron looked shocked, "Hermione, no matter what happened between you and me, I'd always stand by you if there were children involved, I'd want to be a part of their lives."

"Just not part of mine."

"Oh sweet Merlin! Is there any way on earth that I am going to be able to win this argument? Fine, let's wear the cursed rings and be stuck with each other for all eternity! Is that what you want? Only I seem to remember a witch that looked like you saying she'd rather be eaten alive by flesh eating slugs than spend another minute in my company."

Hermione reddened, remembering screaming that at him at the War Survivors Benefit. In the wake of their uneasy truce, she had started to forget those dark, agonising months when they had tried and failed to save their relationship, then tried and succeeded to destroy each other. All of a sudden, she remembered feeling so raw that she physically hurt – her heartache had taken on a tangible sensation and her entire body felt bruised and flayed. Even her magic had dimmed temporarily – something that had terrified her at the time. She had stopped being able to produce a Patronus at all, and even now could only create indistinct silvery wisps. She hadn't confided that fact to anyone and was deeply grateful that dementors had now been banished from Britain, rendering the chance of anyone discovering her secret small.

"Please let's not fight here, not with all these people around," she sighed. Ron touched her arm gently as he stumped inside, letting her know that no real harm had been done. Hermione tucked her hands inside her cardigan and watched George and Teddy who were now taking it in turns to roll down the hill.

"Nice night for it," Harry nodded over to the distant pair as he sat down beside her. Hermione could smell the spicy aroma of firewhisky on him but he seemed steady and his speech was clear.

"Oh, Harry. How are you? This can't be easy for you?" Hermione asked sympathetically, gesturing back to the hubbub of the party behind them.

"Nah, it's ok. I told Molly it was fine. It's not like I only miss my parents at Halloween, I miss them every day."

"Yes but you can hardly be in the mood for celebrating,"

"I don't know," his eyes were trained carefully on the horizon, "spending the night with my friends, my family" he took Hermione's hand and squeezed it tightly, "it seems like a bit of light in the darkness. After all, that's what my mother died for wasn't it – love. So what better way to thank her for it than being with the ones I love."

"Yes but –" Hermione couldn't help herself.

"It's not all about fighting, and being miserable and avenging them any more Hermione. The war's been won. This is our time to be happy – to live our lives."

"You always were better at accepting that than Ron or me," Hermione admitted sadly.

Harry laughed, "Well I don't like making a sport out of fighting, if that's what you mean."

"You're right, you're right," Hermione rested her head in her hands, "but lately, doesn't it feel like, well…we all just have parties all the time for every little thing the whole time. Like we're all on this constant cycle of celebrating the war being over. It'll be your wedding next. It just gets a bit tiring sometimes."

"Here, this should help," Harry summoned her a steaming cup of punch, "I know what you mean. It just doesn't seem real sometimes. Where's the drop of poison?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione sipped at her punch, confused.

"Just something Dumbledore said to me once, 'In every shining moment of happiness is that drop of poison: the knowledge that pain will come again. Sometimes I wake up in the night wondering when the pain's going to come again," Harry shook himself out of the memory of his beloved mentor.

"Dumbledore always did have a way with words didn't he," Hermione grimaced, "Far be it for me to be overdramatic, but isn't the pain me and Ron having to get married against our will? Other girls, being forced into marrying people they don't even know? The Ministry interfering in people having children? If it even is the Ministry!" she realised that she was becoming rather shrill and took another sip of punch.

"Do you believe there's more to it than just Ministry interference? I know you suspected Dark Wizards at the beginning."

"Kingsley did too," Hermione interjected crossly. This wasn't the first time they had discussed the matter. Harry had started to wonder whether they might have overreacted slightly at first, jumping to the conclusion that a dark plot was behind the ruling.

"Yes but Kingsley hasn't been able to find any evidence –"

"I don't care! It's fine for Kingsley, he's too old, it doesn't affect him. Just like it doesn't affect you. You said you believed me before, and you said you'd help me but I haven't seen a bit of it," she folded her arms across her chest.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I've been shit. I've just been so caught up in planning the wedding, you know. I really mean it this time though," Harry held up his gloved hands defensively.

Hermione flashed him a grateful smile, "I know some people think I'm overreacting, but it just doesn't add up. Why are so many children of Death Eaters volunteering to marry mudbloods? Why is Umbridge involved in it, when she's spent the last few years tucked away in a dead end office job."

"Custodian of Office Supplies," Harry smirked.

"Exactly! So why has she gone from being in charge of the stationery cupboard to heading up such a major project? And where's Hazeldene sprung up from? I tell you Harry, when we went to Umbridge's office, I could practically feel Riddle in the room. And the room – something's not right about that either…I forgot, until now….there's just something, Harry. Something rotten about the whole thing,"

"I told you. I believe you."

"Really?" Hermione looked hopeful.

"There's been enough times that you've stuck by me when everyone thought I was going mad, or worse. If you want to try and uncover what's going on, I'll help you. I'm sorry I haven't taken it very seriously up til now. Like you said, I've just got caught up in all this –oooff" Harry was cut off as Hermione pulled him into a tight hug.

"Oi, keep your hands off my husband to be!" Ginny laughed, patting Hermione on the shoulder affectionately.

"Only two months to go until you won't be able to call me that anymore, "Harry grinned, as Ginny slipped down to the step below them to sit between his legs, leaning her head on his knee.

"It can't go quick enough," Ginny groaned, "Honestly, the sooner our wedding's over with and mum can start planning yours Hermione, the better. If I have to spend another minute looking at table plans, I swear….anyway, whatever the two of you are plotting, you'd better wrap it up. George just sent his patronus into the house to tell us all to come out here."

Sure enough, George and Teddy were at the top of the hill, waving to the people who were now filtering out of the house and filling the garden. In a flash of light and sound, the green and gold dragon shaped fireworks that Fred and George had so loved to make soared through the air, breathing plumes of bright pink and purple fire. As the magnificent display swelled to a crescendo Harry touched Hermione on the arm,

"I meant it you know. If there's anything funny going on, we will get to the bottom of it."

Hermione smiled at him before returning her attention to the fireworks, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to ward of the chill that the cup of warm punch had not quite assuaged. Without warning, the heavy warmth of an overcoat settled round her shoulders. She looked up to see Ron standing closely behind her, and couldn't help but raise her eyebrows in surprise at him.

"Watch the fireworks," he grinned, refusing to turn his face from the kaleidoscopic sky.


	12. Chapter 12

**I** **don't own anything in the HP universe.**

 **Thanks to my beta kabg01.**

* * *

Christmas was a typical Weasley affair. The Burrow was even more full than usual, due to people coming to stay before Harry and Ginny's wedding, and it was hard to move without knocking over an ornament or ending up with an elbow in a plate of mince pies. Teddy and Victoire were overexcited and full of pumpkin juice and sweets, running from room to room causing havoc wherever they went. Hagrid had brought them over a tree from the Forbidden Forest and although he had declared that it was 'but a tiddler,' the top of it bowed against the ceiling, even though the uppermost six inches had been removed with a severing charm. The traditional golden gnome on top of the tree looked even more disgruntled than usual when the children's antics round the tree caused the branches to sway and bump its crowned head against the rafters. Celestina Warbeck's reedy tones flooded the house, thanks to the early present of a magical gramophone from George.

Ginny and Hermione woke early, and Hermione was struck by the fact that this was probably the last time that she would have to sleep on the uncomfortable camp bed on the floor of Ginny's bedroom. The room already had a deserted air about it, as most of Ginny's things had already been moved to Grimmauld Place, ready for after the wedding the following week. Despite the fact that Ginny often stayed over there with him, Mrs Weasley had never allowed them to share a bedroom in the Burrow. It had been the same for her and Ron, even though they lived together – when they had stayed at the Burrow they toddled off to separate rooms at bedtime and woe betide them if anyone was caught sneaking about after lights out. That would all change once Harry and Ginny were married, and she supposed her and Ron afterwards, although she doubted they would share a room if they didn't have to.

"Happy Christmas," Ginny had yawned as she stretched sleepily. A thundering of little feet past the door alerted them to the fact that Teddy and Victoire at least, were keen to start the day. Despite a deep Christmas wish to remain in bed for at least another hour with a good book and a cup of tea, Hermione followed her soon to be sister in law downstairs to begin the business of Christmas Day.

Mistletoe adorned almost every spare inch of room on the ceiling, or at least that was how it seemed to Hermione. Every time she was within three feet of Ron, George would pop up from somewhere, gesturing upwards with his wand and waggling his eyebrows salaciously at them. Every single time, without fail, Ron's ears reddened and his fingers twitched as though he ached to snatch the offending greenery down from the ceiling but he made no move towards kissing Hermione. It took her almost an hour to realise that George had charmed a sprig to follow Ron around wherever he went. When George wasn't looking, Hermione vanished it before making a show of going to stand right next to Ron by the fire, just to enjoy the look of bemusement on George's face when he went to tease them.

Present opening was chaotic and enthusiastic. Hermione, who was used to a more sedate pace at home with her parents, sat back and watched for a moment as wrapping paper and ribbon was thrown up into the air with shouts of glee, from adult and child alike. She surveyed her small pile of presents with just a hint of sadness that her own parents couldn't be there. She had hidden them too well, even from herself and despite the help of the Australian Magic Board, she had so far been unable to locate them. She opened a book from Harry and a subscription to Bewitching Brides magazine from Ginny. She was surprised to find that a beautifully wrapped box contained a quill stand and matching ink well from Ron and looked over to thank him to find him holding up the scarf she had bought him and grinning at her.

Molly handed her a small package and watched anxiously as Hermione opened it, "It's a copy of a book my mother in law gave me when I was getting married. She'd written out all of the useful household spells and recipes that she found came in handy. I've added a few of my own over time – cheaper cuts of meat, cottage pie, French onion soup. Some of Ron's favourites are in there," she patted the cover.

Hermione recognised the significance behind the gift – the formal invitation for her to become a Weasley wife, and chose to appreciate that instead of letting her initial irritation at the fact that it was her and not Ron that this bible of domesticity had been presented to, show. She pulled Molly into a tight hug and saw tears sparkling in the older witch's eyes when she finally let her go. Ginny held up an identical book with a grimace, making Hermione stifle down a snort of laughter.

As usual, Hermione was convinced that Mrs Weasley had accidentally cooked for a small army, instead of the family that sat around the table. The kitchen had been somewhat fraught due to Fleur's insistence on helping on helping prepare the feast and Harry's bringing Kreacher (who had mellowed considerably over the years but was still unpredictable) to aid the pair of them; and Hermione had avoided it during the preparations for fear of being the extraneous cook who spoiled the broth, even with the help of the Weasley recipe book. So when three entire turkeys were paraded out and placed on the magically enlarged table, it had come as quite a shock. Of course, she had failed to account for the rapacity of the Weasley boys' appetites and there soon remained little more than stripped carcasses and red headed men, leaning back and loosening their belts. The food, of course, was as delicious as it was plentiful and even Hermione found herself feeling sleepy and stuffed at the end of the meal.

She was sat next to George whose eating had been hampered somewhat by having the sleeping Fred, already a bouncing six month old, over his shoulder. He smiled over at Angelina as she patted her belly, swollen by more than just third helpings of Molly's roast potatoes. In true Weasley fashion, Angelina had fallen pregnant almost as soon as she had got over the birth of Fred. She was chattering happily to Fleur who was also pregnant for a second time.

"Molly's going to need an even bigger table soon," Hermione observed, following George's gaze.

George laughed "Are you casting aspersions on my wife's girth?" causing Hermione to giggle and slap him on the arm, "Hey, sleeping baby here!" he protested, despite the fact that Fred was clearly out for the count.

"You want me to hold him while you finish eating?" she asked. George nodded gratefully and she gently lifted the baby from him and cradled him in her arms. His heavy warmth was soporific and she felt herself relax and her arms mould around the baby.

"Suits you," George smiled at her, "and I'm not the only one to think so," he nodded in the direction of Ron. Hermione's head snapped up and she met Ron's eyes as he stared at her, a curiously tender expression on his face. When he realised he had been caught watching her, he looked away, scowling. It was oddly endearing, to see him in the annual Weasley jumper, Christmas hat askew and cheeks pink, grumpily embarrassed that he had been caught looking at his own fiancé. The lining up of Ron's Christmas jumpers chronologically over the last two decades would be an interesting exercise; to see how the arms had grown in length suddenly when he was aged fifteen, to note the jump in size in the 1998 Christmas jumper to accommodate the bulk that he had gained during Auror training, even to cry over the pristine jumper from the year they had been away for the horcrux hunt but that Molly had knitted anyway. Hermione, Fleur and Angelina all got jumpers too now. They had all had to pretend, that first year, that they hadn't noticed that Fleur's had been too big, even though a shrinking spell had clearly been applied to it, and that the colour matched George's exactly. No one ever discussed it but by the way Fleur had put the jumper on eagerly, Hermione knew that she too had guessed Molly's mistake and was keen to show her that the jumper would be worn gratefully, even though its originally intended recipient was no longer around to wear it.

"He's probably just jealous that you've got a whole turkey leg left," Hermione chuckled. George had teased them enough for one day and Ron was rising for it because he had been falling for his older brothers' teasing since he was a tiny boy.

"So, are you glad to be here for another Weasley family Christmas? I imagine it takes some getting used to," George gestured round the cluttered, noisy table to the people that Hermione now thought of as her family. Her heart ached to see her parents but even if she had been able to track them down, she had to be honest with herself and admit that she would have rather have been here, in the Weasley household than the three of them sat round a small turkey back in Cambridge.

"Couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be," she admitted honestly, "but are you glad to be here?"

George's geniality slipped for a moment, shooting a glance to Angelina, making sure she was still occupied.

"Yeah absolutely," he laughed, but it sounded false.

"Are you? Really?" a concerned hand on his knee now, leaning in to look into his eyes sincerely, "because I know that special occasions can be very hard, when you're missing someone –"

"I'm fine!" George cut her off, his words just a little too loud, his cutlery clattering down onto his plate, halting conversations and making little Fred stir and whimper in Hermione's arms. George took him back from her and whispered in his ear, his eyes trained on the baby.

"Fancy a walk, Hermione?" Ron asked in oddly strangled tones. She looked over to see him looking frantically between her and George and her heart sank. Too late she realised that she was doing the very thing that George didn't want. Still, her hackles were raised that Ron, the crown prince of unsubtlety, wanted to lecture her on tact. She nodded curtly and followed him to the porch and watched him shrugging on his coat, noticing how broad his shoulders were nowadays. He could almost be more suited to playing beater in Quidditch now.

She buttoned up her own coat and tried not to smile as he pulled his ancient Chudley Cannons hat onto her head and made a show of adjusting the ear flaps studiously. She also tried to ignore how the feeling of his hands on her hair made her heart beat faster. When he wrapped the cashmere scarf that she had bought him around his neck he ran his hands over the fabric, admiring its soft warmth.

When they reached the gate, she couldn't hold in the tension any longer, anticipating a blow up, "I know what you're going to say so you may as well get it over with," she snapped, knowing how petulant she sounded.

He grimaced down at her, his blue eyes shining above his cheeks made rosy by the cold, but didn't take the bait, "For what it's worth, I think he really is fine. Just….don't treat him like one of your potions experiments is all. Reckon I wouldn't like it. When I went to stay with Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage, you know, when we fell out, they kept trying to talk to me about how I felt. As if I didn't know I'd been an idiot. It just made me wish the ground would swallow me up."

"Should I say something to him do you think?" Hermione looked uncertainly back to the house.

"No! He'll be mad enough that I've told you. If you start trying to talk to him about it again, he'll hex my bollocks off. I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone, remember?"

"But it's not right Ron! You should have told me. It was unfair of him to ask you not to but it was even more unfair of you to keep it from me! Did you really think that little of me?"

"I was scared, alright? I was worried that if I did anything wrong, he'd do it again. And I was worried that you'd think less of me, or worry that I might do something like it. And I was scared you'd try and talk me out of my decision to give up being an Auror - properly, not just because I was being stupid. And then I'd buckle because I'm a selfish bastard some of the time and I really really wanted to be an Auror," his big hands were clenched into fists by his sides but he was still speaking quietly, looking down at the toes of his boots.

"You could have told me. You should have told me," she took a tentative step closer and grabbed hold of the cuffs of his jacket, looking up into his downcast face.

"I know, it was just like, the further I went along with the lie, the angrier we both got and the harder it was to tell you the truth,"

"I suppose we must have had other problems, otherwise this one thing wouldn't have got between us," Hermione squinted over the silvery white landscape. Her memories of their break up had crystallised into key events – the night Ron had moved out and the embarrassing, overly dramatic falling out at the gala were as clear in her mind as they would have been in a pensieve – leaving all of the childish snits, the sulking and the failures to communicate a vague blur. Would they have grown up a bit, learned how to be adults together instead of children ravaged by war? Or would their relationship have limped on to the same conclusion, even without the catalyst of Ron's well meant deception.

"I suppose so," Ron agreed dejectedly. He looked wretched, obviously also reliving their previous problems and letting old doubts and insecurities start whispering to him.

"When we're…" Hermione swallowed thickly around the word that stuck in her throat, "married. I mean, I know it's not a real marriage or anything, and you don't have to like me but I still think it would be better if we got on, not just for us, for everyone else really…" she trailed off, aware that she was babbling and had completely missed the point of what she was trying to say.

Ron seemed to have understood anyway, and nodded to her, the winter sunlight shining golden on his eyelashes, "We'll have to talk to each other properly and not stomp about sulking like a pair of prats,"

"Succinctly put as always Ronald," Hermione blushed. They tramped in companiable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the crunching of their boots in the freshly fallen snow. Hermione tried not to sneak glances at the way the blue of the scarf brought out the colour of his eyes.

"I got you something," Ron said shyly.

"I know, and thank you for the quill stand, it was very thoughtful," Hermione smiled.

"No, something else," his ears reddened and he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets as kicked up small piles of snow, "Wanted to make up for not getting you a proper birthday present,"

"You don't have to get me anything," she insisted. After all, the cashmere scarf she had bought him was hardly a grand gesture. She'd only bought it on Christmas Eve and wrapped it on the off chance that he had bought her something. That and the fact that the colour of it had reminded her so perfectly of his eyes.

"I know, I wanted to," he stopped walking now and turned to face her, pulling a sloppily wrapped parcel from his pocket. Hermione raised an eyebrow at the wrapping, remembering the neat package that her earlier present had been in,

"I got the witch in the shop to gift wrap the other one," Ron huffed out an embarrassed laugh, "still, it doesn't matter does it - you're going to open it just the same,"

Hermione nodded in agreement, sliding her finger under the crinkled spellotape. She could tell it was a book without even needing to remove the packaging. Her mind raced, wondering what book he might be embarrassed about giving her in front of his family. Possibly something on the marriage law or something. If it was something on marital relations or something, she thought she might die. When she saw the title, her brows knitted together in confusion: Pride and Prejudice.

"S'not a first edition or anything," Ron mumbled self-consciously, "And I reckon you've already read it,"

"Have you read it?" Hermione wondered if he had chosen it at random or if he actually knew the story.

"Nah but I've seen the film on one of those VDV thingies. It just….well….it just seemed a bit like us. Like he can be a bit of an arse and keeps messing up and saying the wrong thing. And she won't give him a chance. It's like, they can't stand each other but you know they're going to come good in the end – just because of how much they wind each other up," she saw him scratch the back of his neck as she squinted up at him against the weak winter sun. She kept forgetting how much taller than her he was.

She longed to ask him whether that was what he thought was going to happen – that they would "come good" in the end – but she realised that she was just gazing up into his blue eyes. He took a step closer, half a step really, and inclined his head down towards hers, a silent question in his face. Panicked embarrassment flooded though her and she forced a laugh,

"And where have you been watching DVDs? Don't tell me your dad's got a cinema set up in that shed of his?" She blurted out the first thing in her mind just to hide the fact that he had looked like he had been trying to decide if he wanted to kiss her, and she didn't know what she'd do if he did.

"I was seeing a muggle born, she wanted to watch it. She didn't warn me it was about six hours long. That earned me some major brownie points, I can tell you," he grimaced but there was a hint of boastfulness in his tone, as though he had forgotten it wasn't Harry or one of his brothers that he was talking to.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed abruptly, feeling like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her. She knew that Ron had been popular with the ladies - she hadn't been able to avoid seeing news about it but that didn't mean she wanted to hear about it.

Ron, even with his limited emotional insight, seemed to realise that he had said the wrong thing and rushed to make amends, "That's not all though," he urged, "Look at the bookmark!"

Frowning, Hermione looked down at the book in her hands, letting it fall open. The bookmark was just an old luggage tag, possibly from Ron's Hogwarts trunk. It wasn't until she lifted it out of the book to examine it more closely that she saw, dangling from the dirty string, a gold band.

"It's a ring," Ron explained uselessly.

"I can see that," Hermione murmured in reply, but she was smiling.

"I thought you might like to wear it, you know, when we get married. Or now, if you wanted. It's not got any charms on it or anything. If you don't like it I can change it or take it back," his tone was almost defiant, as though he was expecting a refusal. Hermione cradled the delicate golden circle in her hand, weighing it, marvelling at the small stone which changed colour depending on the angle it was viewed.

"It's a magical diamond," Ron elaborated, "I was going to get you something goblin made but then I thought you might not like that. They're quite rare – apparently they have to be mined by wizards and the first light that has to land on them is the full moon, or something. It can go back," he repeated.

Hermione wondered if it was the ring that Draco had seen Ron buying, all that time ago, or if he had returned that or given it to someone else, and this was a new one. She knew that she'd never ask him. She slid it off the string and onto her finger, turning her hand first one way then the other, to see how the light reflected off it.

"Thank you," she said simply and without panicking, or over thinking it, reached up and kissed him softly on the cheek. Ron looked like he had been hit by a bludger.

"You like it then?"

"Yes!" Hermione laughed, and she slipped her small cold hand into his warm one, "now let's get back, I'm freezing and you know your mum will be waiting for us before she lights the Christmas pudding,"


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: None of this is mine**

 **Massive MASSIVE thanks to my beta kabg01 for helping me get this chapter written.**

* * *

The week between Christmas and New Year was normally a time for eating leftovers, wearing pajamas all day and watching old black and white films when Hermione had lived with her parents. She was even able to smile over the memory of the year that her and Ron had turned their bed into an enormous den of pillows and blankets, shut the floo off and only left the bedroom to go to the bathroom or the kitchen for three days. So the flurry of activity over the Burrow in between the two festive holidays felt like a confetti-spewing chiffon beast had taken up residence and had cast an Imperius over the other female members of the household, whipping the normally indolent time into a frenzy of flower arranging, dress making and other mysteries that Hermione doubted she would have enthused over even if her marriage had been genuine.

Whilst they were preparing ostensibly for Ginny and Harry's wedding, Mrs Weasley had deemed it more efficient to double up some tasks, producing two towering fruitcakes instead of one and ordering in champagne in sufficient quantities to drown even Hagrid. Hermione felt a twinge of guilt about the added expense, especially as in the Muggle world, the cost would traditionally fall to the father of the bride, but Molly waved away Hermione's offer of money and told her firmly that she was her daughter too, and she was going to have the best wedding that Molly and Arthur were able to provide. The guilt was what concealed the sighs of boredom as she stood on a chair and had her dress adjusted for what felt like hours, and forced her to give an opinion on whether she preferred white or blush pink roses.

"I don't see how you get out of it so lightly," she had complained to Ron and Harry after a long day transfiguring string into satin ribbon as they had tumbled into the kitchen, their cheeks flushed and their hair windblown from playing quidditch in the paddock, but they had just laughed and embarked on a list of fashion mistakes and social faux pas the other had made over the years, as though these were reason enough that they had been exempted from any kind of decision making capacity.

However, despite the boredom, the week sped by and it was soon time for Harry and Ginny to get married. The wedding itself was a quiet affair. Hermione had assumed that it would have been held in the Burrow, as seemed to be the Weasley tradition, but Ginny had insisted that they have it in the transfiguration courtyard at Hogwarts. She had said it was because it was easier to keep unwanted guests and the press out of Hogwarts than put all of the enchantments back over the Burrow but Hermione suspected that she had done it for Harry, who sometimes seemed to have been overwhelmed by the Weasley family. Harry loved having a family at last, but the castle had been the first place he had thought of as home. The fact that the courtyard only held fifty people, meaning that the difference in numbers between Harry and Ginny's families was less glaring, was an added bonus. They had the ceremony on New Year's Day, so the castle was empty of pupils but somebody had filled it with white lilies and hundreds of tiny twinkling lights.

Hermione and Luna were bridesmaids, both wearing diaphanous robes of a pale blue that reminded Hermione of the dress she had worn to the Yule Ball. She had wondered, when Ginny commented how much the colour suited her, with a wink, whether she too was remembering that the Yule Ball had been the first time that Hermione and Ron had really clashed over their feelings for each other.

As they walked up the aisle behind Ginny, Hermione stopped concentrating on trying to keep time with Luna's dancing step as she became was aware of Ron's eyes on her, looking like she was a cold drink of water at midday in the desert. It was all she could do not to trip over her own feet under his intense scrutiny. She had to drop her eyes to her bouquet as colour flooded to her cheeks and her heart pounded in her chest. It wasn't that he looked like he approved of her dress or thought she made a pretty bridesmaid – he looked hungry. The thought thrilled her more than she felt it should and heat flooded through her despite the coolness of the winter afternoon. Throughout the ceremony she had to train her attention on Harry and Ginny, their beautiful, romantic, honest vows, just to stop herself from sneaking glances at Ron again, almost fearful that he would still be looking at her like that and what she would do if he was.

After the ceremony they headed to the Great Hall for the wedding breakfast and crowded onto the Gryffindor table as the house elves sent up piling dishes of sausages and mash, meat pies, buttered vegetables, stew and cottage pie. It felt strange to be sitting there and not be deep in conversation with Harry and Ron, or to have a book propped against the pepper pot.

"That was lovely wasn't it," Luna interrupted Hermione's thoughts with her strange otherwordly tones.

Hermione smiled warmly at her friend, glad of a distraction from the man that she knew was sitting just a few places down from her, "A really beautiful ceremony, yes. And how are you Luna? I feel like I haven't seen you for ages. I only get to read the reports you send in – it sounds fantastic over there," Luna had become a sort of colleague of Hermione's after she had received funding from the Ministry to travel to Borneo and study the indigenous magical creatures of the rainforests. With a little prodding in the right direction, the dreamy blonde had been convinced to study actual living creatures rather than mythical beasts, and had taken to it marvellously.

"Not since the Memorial ceremony. Perhaps we'll only ever meet at Hogwarts now. But the rainforest's absolutely amazing. I've just started studying a tribe of Griffins. I think they might let me see their nest soon,"

Hermione pursed her lips and reminded herself that her friend was an accomplished naturalist and didn't need telling that it was breeding season for Griffins at the moment and that luring humans to their nests was one of the ways they fed their inordinately hungry chicks.

"It's nice to see that you and Ron are back together, your auras didn't look right when you weren't talking to each other," Luna mused, helping herself to a Yorkshire pudding.

"Oh no –" Hermione forced a laugh that felt dry and unnatural in her throat, "not really. Remember, I told you in my letter, about the marriage law. That we're having to act like a couple…"

She trailed off. Luna didn't seem to be listening anyway. She squinted at Hermione for a long while, tilting her head to the side. Hermione was almost surprised that she didn't get out those strange glasses that she used to wear. Then she leaned backwards and peered owlishly down the row at Ron before turning back, an apologetic smile on her face,

"I'm sorry, I didn't realise you didn't know. I just assumed by the way you were undressing each other with your eyes during the ceremony,"

Hermione almost choked on a bite of carrot at Luna's bald statement.

"I can assure you we were doing nothing of the sort!" she started, sounding pompous even to her ears, "but what do you mean – what don't I know?"

Luna smiled serenely, "That you're falling back in love with each other, of course," then her protuberant eyes grew even wider and she clapped her hands with glee as the plates disappeared, to be replaced with mountainous desserts, "oh goody, pudding! I love pudding,"

After the remains of dinner had been vanished and the tables levitated to the side, the music had started. Hermione had danced with every male member of the Weasley family with one notable exception. Ron hadn't even tried to talk to her all evening, Hermione realised crossly, as she grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. It wasn't as if she expected him to spend the evening by her side but a simple 'you look nice,' wouldn't have gone amiss. She scanned the room angrily for him, half determined to go and give him a piece of her mind, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had gone home. Good. She didn't want to dance with him anyway – not with his stupid hair, and stupid charcoal grey dress robes that fitted him perfectly, and especially not his stupid, stupid arms that wrapped round you so completely and….Merlin, she was in trouble.

She pressed the cool goblet to her cheek. Deciding that some fresh air might stop her head spinning, she headed for the now deserted courtyard. She was just admiring the enchanted fairy lights when she realised that she wasn't alone. Leaning up against the wall in the shadows, firewhisky glass in hand, was Ron. She took half a step backwards, hoping to creep away before he had seen her but he raised his tumbler in greeting and she was forced to plaster a smile on her face and join him.

"Lovely ceremony wasn't it," she offered, her voice crackling with false brightness. He just nodded in response, watching her closely. His gaze felt like a beacon, roving over her skin.

The silence was just starting to prickle with awkwardness when Ron spoke, "Sorry I didn't dance with you. You know what I'm like – two left feet – I'd have probably stamped all over your toes," he took another sip of his drink and gazed up to the sky, allowing a thin plume of steamy breath to drift upwards.

"It's alright, you don't have to feel obligated."

Ron nodded, his lips set into a thin line. Hermione felt a tiny stab of disappointment in her stomach.

"Should we –" she was going to ask if he wanted to go back inside but he spoke at the same time, "we could –" They both laughed nervously and Hermione gestured that he could go first.

"I was, er, just going to say, we could have a dance now, if you wanted?" he muttered stiffly.

"Out here?"

"You're right, it's a stupid idea," Ron scowled, and pushed himself off the mossy stone wall to return to the party.

Hermione clenched her fingers tightly, "ok then."

He stopped in his tracks, eyeing her questioningly, before holding out his hand for her.

The music drifted softly out of the Great Hall as she took his hand and he placed his other loosely on her waist. She could barely hear the music over the whooshing of the blood in her ears and he didn't seem able to meet her eyes but they managed a few twirling circles of the courtyard together. As much as Ron had proclaimed himself a terrible dancer, he was nothing of the sort and slowly she started to relax against him. They caught each other's eye and were both suddenly overcome with giggles that dissolved into something more intense, more serious, their gazes locked on one another.

Hermione suddenly became very aware of her breathing, which felt like it was coming in great noisy gusts. The corner of Ron's mouth quirked up into a crooked, curious grin that somehow was impossible for her to look away from. His hand tightened on her waist.

All of a sudden George popped his head out of the door, "There you are! Everyone's looking for the pair of you. Harry and Ginny are waiting to leave! Of course if you'd rather I could just tell them you're too busy smooching…"

Hermione and Ron both hurried after his retreating form, their faces an identical shade of red.

oOoOoOo

With Ginny and Harry out of the Burrow on their honeymoon, and Hermione needing to be there more than ever to plan the wedding, she knew it would seem churlish to ask Ron when he was going to be there so they could avoid each other but it felt like they were together almost constantly. It wasn't that she disliked being with him – the anger that she had felt for him for so long had all but dissolved in the wake of their discussions about it – but the more time she spent with him, the more difficult it became to avoid talking about the future.

It was less than a week before the big day and Ron and Hermione had been folding napkins for what felt like forever. Ron had attempted a few by magic but Molly had sniffed at his sloppy wandwork, "If you haven't taken the time to refine your household spells while you've been out living on your own, then you'll have to do them the muggle way," and swept off to speak to Marmaduke Millimant who had arrived with the marquee.

Ron had looked at Hermione for help but she just had just shrugged and started folding.

"I'd have thought you'd have this sort of thing down easily, I can never get the little wiggle right at the end," Ron waved his wand over a napkin again.

Hermione giggled, "That looks more like a hippogriff than a swan. No, funnily enough, of all the extra lessons I took at Hogwarts, forming tableware into the shape of aquatic birds wasn't one of them."

Ron shook out the crumpled napkin resignedly and began again by hand, "And you said you send your washing out. I'm beginning to think you're as hopeless around the house as me,"

"Ron, we lived together. For two years! You know I just prefer to do housework the muggle way," even as she said it, she felt the pain of acknowledging that happier time resurface from the deep place she had buried it under piles of anger and blame. Memories of doing the washing up, being elbow deep in bubbles, only to have Ron sneak up behind her and slip his arms round her waist, swam blurrily from the back of her mind. Doing the dusting with a long handled feather duster wearing the ridiculously frilly negligee that Ron had bought her for the task as he felt up her bottom every time she reached into the high spots.

"Oh yeah," he reddened slightly and Hermione wondered, as their eyes met, whether they were sharing the same memories, "I forget about that sometimes."

"It's easier not to think about it, isn't it," she admitted, trying to keep her hands steady enough to fold yet another blasted swan.

"I like to pretend that they were different people sometimes. It makes it easier. Then when I think of it, it's almost like watching a play or something,"

Hermione patted his knee absently, wondering whether now was the right moment to bring up some of the happier times they had shared. Although they had been getting on much better, she felt that their past, whilst they both refused to acknowledge it too directly, was still a massive barrier between them. She felt cowardly and it rankled with her, that she was avoiding mentioning anything until after the wedding in order to avoid anything jeopardising the fragile peace between them.

She was saved from her dilemma by a sharp rap at the door and the sound of raised voices in the hallway. After a brief scuffle, Delores Umbridge burst into the room, looking visibly disappointed at the scene of mundane domesticity before her. Perhaps she had been hoping to find them absent, or even better, in the process of fleeing. Hazeldene sauntered in after her, tipping his bowler hat in greeting, with a red faced Molly hot on his heels, her arms folded in disapproval.

"Aurelius," Hermione greeted him demurely, her hand still on Ron's knee. Umbridge bristled at the snub to her but seeing as she hadn't made any effort to greet them, she could hardly complain.

"Is there some emergency at the Ministry? Or a last minute problem with our marriage? I'm puzzled what would bring the Head of the Betrothals and Marriages Office here, unannounced," Hermione smiled blandly as she enunciated the last word.

"Oh no," Hazeldene smiled, "I'm just here to chaperone Delores. She seemed to be a little concerned about her safety, coming here to see you," he turned away again, unsuccessfully trying to hide the look of amusement on his face.

Umbridged huffed impressively, seeming for a moment to be less enamoured with her boss than usual.

"I merely wanted to come and make sure that the plans for your, hem, happy union are going well and that there aren't any last minute problems anticipated?" she clasped her hands together expectantly. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Honestly, the woman was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.

"Well you can see that they are, so unless you want to help us fold napkins, you can bugger off," Ron seemed to have also taken the line that whilst Hazeldene was to be treated with at least the semblance of respect, Umbridge was fair game.

"Ronald Weasley, might I remind you –" Umbridge drew herself up to her full height, which admittedly was not very much, especially in contrast to Ron, who stood up to tower over her.

"Walk with me a moment?" Hazeldene smiled his duplicitous smile at Hermione. She nodded in acknowledgement and followed him to the garden. Although he had phrased his request as a question, acceptance was the only acceptable answer. Ron grabbed her hand as she went to go but she just squeezed his in acknowledgement then dropped it. The thought of him being left finishing the conversation with Umbridge tickled her more than it should. They walked in silence through the dewy grass for a moment, Hazeldene seeming to greatly enjoy regarding the first shoots of spring struggling through the moribund remains of last year's flowers.

"Ah, the cycle begins again. Rebirth after death. The phoenix rising from the ashes. Nothing more vital, is there Miss Granger?" he crouched down, inhaling deeply the earthy scent of the flower bed.

Hermione just stood and waited, her hands in her pockets, her jaw jutting sullenly. She wasn't sure if he was making a point or simply passing pleasantries while the action her mind should be on was inside the house. Whatever the reason, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of engaging. Eventually, seeming satisfied, Aurelius stood, unfolding his long skinny legs and brushing invisible dirt from the knees of his pinstripe suit.

"People say you're the brightest witch of your age," he eyed her as though she was a mere curiosity, making her bristle fiercely, "I've even heard that you might be the next Minister for Magic,"

"I've heard the same about you," Hermione acknowledged grudgingly, and something passed wordlessly between them - that this appraisal was about more than career ambition. It was Hazeldene's way of telling her that he had marked her out for special attention, "people talk," she finished coldly, with a shrug of her shoulders that suggested that she didn't listen to such gossip.

"Like it here?" he waved his arm back over the Weasleys' land, and even his light conversational tone didn't ease the prickle of unease that Hermione felt. "You must do if you're getting married here," he stood and idly watched the marquee being erected in the paddock. Hermione watched silently along with him, refusing to talk until she was more sure of what point he was trying to make.

"I must admit," he continued, still pleasantly, "that I was a little surprised that your Mr Weasley agreed to marry you so quickly. Then I realised that perhaps he's not quite like you and I. He doesn't always look before he leaps. Doesn't always stop to think of the consequences – the ripples on the pool after he throws a stone into the depths. Not like you – you know the consequences of what you're doing don't you. Not just to him, to his whole family."

All of a sudden Hermione realised that even in his proclamation of her as "bright", he had underestimated her, and the thought of it made her want to laugh wildly in his face, but she allowed herself just the merest tight lipped smile, "You've come to warn me that if I try any funny business – meddle too much in the law or try and get out of it, then Ron's the one who will suffer, along with me? Perhaps more than just Ron. "

Hazeldene just cocked his head to the side, an invitation to finish her line of thought.

"As though I haven't known that from the moment he agreed to marry me?" she laughed now, just a sorrowful huff of air, "Did you know that I was tortured by Death Eaters in the war?" she asked conversationally, leading him now deeper into the garden. If Hazeldene was surprised by the change of subject, he didn't show it, perhaps used to circuitous discussions where no one quite said what they meant. "They tortured me for information but I didn't crack. Because I am a fighter – do you understand?"

"I believe I do, Miss Granger,"

"I knew that my friends were in the cellar and their lives depended on me keeping my mouth shut, even when the flames were eating me from the inside out. I didn't crack then and I'm not going to now. So you don't have to make vague threats to Ron or his family to make me behave because if I didn't already know it without you telling me, why would I still be here? By your own admission, I'm a bright witch, I could hide myself so you could never find me. I've done it before, from more powerful wizards than you. But I'm still here, folding napkins into swans, because Ron jumped into this mess with both feet to protect me and I'm going to do the same for him,"

"An admirable sentiment." Aurelius smiled at her, his eyes skittering away from hers as though she had dirt on her face and he didn't know how to point it out. Without acknowledging her outburst in any way, he turned on his heel and headed back to the house.

Umbridge was waiting for them at the back gate, her demeanor smug and satisfied once more, "Just so as you're aware, Ms Granger, a healer from St Mungo's will be dropping in the morning after your wedding to make sure that everything is in order," she clutched her pink leather handbag, smiling primly and Hermione was just grateful that she didn't wink or nudge her with her elbow to drive home the point.

Hermione and Ron exchanged twin looks of horror as the two Ministry Officials apparated away, their mission apparently complete.

* * *

 **If you're enjoying, please review**


	14. Chapter 14

**I am not JK Rowling. None of this is mine.**

 **So as usual, mega thanks to Kabg01 she is just too good for words.**

 **Thanks to everyone has reviewed so far, this is now my most reviewed story ever. Particular thanks goes to 27 who reviewed the last chapter twice! So this one's for you.**

* * *

The night before the wedding had arrived all too soon. Hermione had asked Ginny and Luna to stay at her house with her, the night before the wedding, as much to stop her from running away as to keep with tradition. It had been a pleasant evening, drinking champagne and talking about happy memories from school as they painted each other's nails.

Hermione had popped into the kitchen to find a box of chocolate biscuits for them to snack on while they gossiped but suddenly there was a commotion in the living room and she could hear Luna, sounding almost sharp for once, "I don't think that you should –" the door burst open and there was Draco sodding Malfoy. His hair was dishevelled and his eyes were bloodshot. A dirty blonde stubble shaded his jaw. Hermione's heart skipped a painful beat at how much his dishevelled appearance aged him. He looked just like Lucius, just like he had looked that day in the ballroom. Her breath came in shallow pants as she forced herself back to the present day, forced herself to remember that this was Draco and he wasn't the one who planted his pointy toed boot on her hair as she writhed uncontrollably on the ground so it was yanked out by the roots. Ginny stepped forward to usher him from the room but Hermione stopped her,

"It's ok," she murmured to her protective bridesmaid, "leave us a minute, I'll be alright,"

With a roll of her eyes, Ginny swept from the room, leaving the pair of them alone.

"You look like shit," Hermione folded her arms and eyed him appraisingly.

"Zabini, Goyle and Nott took me out on a bender last night. To stop me moping, they said. I managed to give them the slip just now," he grinned, wobbling slightly on his feet.

"You've been out for twenty four hours?" Hermione asked, horrorstruck.

"Ain't no party like a Slytherin party," Draco grinned, looking a little bemused, "Or at least that's what Goyle keeps singing," he rubbed the back of his neck, mussing up his hair even further, "don't know what he's on about really,"

"What do you want Draco?" By unspoken agreement, they hadn't seen each other since the night of her birthday meal, and any communication had been limited to potion making talk, on the occasions that he had not sent her owls back with her letters still attached, unopened, to their legs. She hadn't liked to admit to herself how much she had missed his company, particularly the conversations that had meandered between acerbic and flirtatious and had felt almost like playing chess.

He thought for a minute, looking around as though surprised to find himself in her kitchen, "Just wanted to say hi," none of his normal wit seemed to be present today. Whereas Harry grew loud and raucous on firewhisky, and Ron was prone to grandiose romantic statements when drinking mead or dancing after imbibing too much of his father's nettle wine, drunkenness did not seem to suit Malfoy. It dulled his sharp edges and slowed him down.

"Hi," Hermine huffed, waving at him, "Now do you want to go back and find your friends? I'm sure they'll be looking for you," she took his arm to usher him back to the fireplace. She could hear the girls' hushed whispers in the other room and she wanted to get rid of this version of Malfoy as quickly as possible.

"I miss you!" he exclaimed dramatically, shaking her hand away and slumping down in one of her kitchen chairs, dejected. Hermione's irritation fell away.

"I know," she sighed, sinking into a chair next to him, "I miss you too."

"Don't marry him Granger," Draco grasped her hand tightly.

"What?"

"Don't marry him! We could run away together,"

Hermione stared at him for half a beat before bursting into surprised laughter.

"What?" He asked, looking hurt that she had laughed at his suggestion.

"Oh come on Draco! Run away together where? You forget, I've spent a year on the hideout before and it isn't fun. We'd end up hating each other within ten minutes flat!" he looked like he was going to protest, "Trust me, you really wouldn't like my stewed mushrooms and hedge berries, or sleeping in a tent that smells of cats and mildew,"

Draco shuddered, "Perhaps not. Well, we could elope? Come back married?"

Hermione allowed the tantalising idea to wind its way into her mind, pretending for just a moment that all of the difficulties that Draco presented when he wasn't wasted didn't exist. Then she folded all the imaginings away in a little box and shut the lid, "You're drunk. You should go. It's my wedding night. We can't elope,"

"Why not?" a belligerent tone crept into his voice.

"Because of all of the reasons that you told me! Because in a few hours all my friends will be arriving at the Burrow to see me get married and I don't want to let them down. What about Ron?"

"What about him?" Draco exploded, knocking the chair backwards as he stood up, "What's that bloody Weasel got that I haven't? You're going to go mad married to that….that…dunderhead! Is it because he's rich now? Here, I'm rich," he started turning out his pockets, spilling knuts and sickles on to the floor.

"He didn't fuck about for nearly a year before he agreed to marry me, that's what!" Hermione shouted, her temper snapping cleanly in two, "he stood up to the plate when it counted! And he didn't show up drunk and upset me on my wedding night! And he didn't - he wouldn't ever - think I was marrying him for his money."

"Every time you fuck him you'll be thinking of me" He sounded so smug, so self assured, that Hermione almost felt embarrassed for him. Embarrassed that he could be playing the situation so badly. There had been a time where, if he had tried to sweep her off her feet, she would have let him. But this drunk, bumbling Draco - who lacked the humour that normally sweetened the insults he made, and who hadn't even tried to understand the situation she was in, even after all the months of living through it with her – made her question what she had ever seen in him.

"Malfoy, you're drunk. You need to go home!"

Ginny and Luna made no attempt to pretend that they hadn't been listening on the other side of the door, and at Hermione's screamed order to Malfoy, they bustled into the room.

"He's too drunk to apparate or floo on his own," Hermione sighed, eyeing the wizard who had seemed to accept he was beaten and was staring sullenly at the floor, "can someone take him home?"

"I'll do it," Luna said brightly, "I know where the Manor is – I stayed there," Hermione couldn't help but smile at her friend's curiously optimistic remembering of her time in the Malfoy's dungeon.

"Thank you," she said gratefully, as Luna put his arm round him and steered him to the fireplace, telling him about how he would need a gurdyroot infusion in the morning.

oOoOoOo

Using a mixture of hugely expensive muggle make up and just the lightest touch of glamours, Ginny managed to cover up the dark shadows and red rims that told of Hermione's sleepless, tearful night.

"There," she smiled in satisfaction, standing back to survey her handiwork, "that's the best I can do, and it's pretty good, even though I do say so myself. Honestly, I could kill that Malfoy for coming over and upsetting you."

"It wasn't all his fault," Hermione gestured to her face as Ginny quirked a questioning eyebrow at her, "Nightmares," she elaborated. Ginny didn't ask any more – she had her own share of nightmares. Seeing Harry lying broken in Hagrid's arms, the tantalising tease of Voldemort taking over her mind, Fred's smiling face. They all had nightmares. Hermione tried not to dwell on the fact that hers was the same one each time, a predictable slideshow of horrors that jerked her awake, sweating and gasping.

"Glass of champagne?" Luna asked, passing a crystal flute to Hermione and sipping from one herself.

"Oi, where's mine?" Ginny demanded, only half joking, as she poured herself one.

"Oh sorry Ginny, I didn't think you'd want one, what with the baby and all," Luna's protuberant eyes focussed on a point around Ginny's midriff.

Ginny's glass paused half way to her open mouth, her eyes narrowed. Her head bobbed almost imperceptibly, giving Hermione the impression that she was counting backwards in her head.

"Well bugger," Ginny said in the end, sounding almost like Ron, "Don't say anything to Harry, either of you," she warned, dividing the contents of her glass between Luna and Hermione.

"Congratulations?" Hermione tried but failed to hold back the smile that was threatening to split her face in two. Ginny started sobbing, half crying and half laughing, wiping her eyes frantically to stop her make up from running.

"Wow!" she whispered, running her hand over her flat stomach, "a baby…just….wow!" That started Hermione off with the same hiccupping, emotional laughter as the three women embraced tightly in celebration. Just at that moment, Harry entered the room, clearing his throat self consciously. The other girls pressed her hands with theirs and said they'd see her at the aisle.

"You look nice," Harry grinned, before his face fell comically, "Oh shit. I'm not meant to say things like that. Ginny'll bollock me if she finds out I just said you look nice. You look beautiful, radiant, a vision from heaven,"

"Don't overdo it," Hermione warned, holding up a finger.

"Nervous?" Harry asked, his forehead crumpling into an anxious frown. The panic that had been threatening to paralyse her all morning, that she had managed to keep locked down inside her while she had been getting ready, finally overtook her now it was just the two of them,

"What the hell am I doing? This is going to be an absolute disaster!" Hermione paced the room. Harry just perched on the edge of an armchair, watching her nervously.

"What if we fall out again, what if it's like at the gala again?" Hermione, who was almost hyperventilating with the effort of not crying and smudging her make up, sat down abruptly on the floor, her dress pooling around her. Harry crouched down on his heels next to her, confused at how the happy bride that Ginny had left had descended so quickly into this. He eyed the door and tried to weigh up whether sending a patronus for Ginny to come back would be worth the telling off his wife would surely give him if she saw Hermione now.

"Exactly what did happen between the two of you at that godforsaken gala?"

"What do you remember of it?" Hermione asked hesitantly, not wanting to repeat any of it that she didn't have to.

Harry took off his glasses and polished them on his tie self-consciously, "Well, you know me Hermione, back in those days I tried to lose myself at the bottom of the bottle of firewhisky at shitty events like that,"

"You said it made you feel brave," Hermione grimaced, "Ginny used to hate it. She said it just used to make you talk really loudly,"

Harry huffed out a laugh, replacing his glasses on his nose, "I remember you'd gone all out – for once you'd actually let one of those designers who were always offering you gowns to wear at events to lend you a dress. And your hair looked all…" he trailed off and waved his hand vaguely at her head.

"I had made a bit of an effort, yes," Hermione admitted, blushing.

"And I remember we had to sit on that stupid top table on the stage, the three of us. It was like a show for everyone else to watch us eat our dinner. Godric knows why, presumably the organisers had never seen Ron eat before,"

"When he eventually turned up," Hermione sighed.

"Oh yeah! He didn't arrive until about half way through the starter. At least he got to miss all the speeches. As if we all needed to be reminded about what happened in the war. That's why I got so drunk - I remember now!"

"You were playing a drinking game that you had a shot every time they said your name,"

"Well they shouldn't have those magically refilling glasses,"

"I should have known not to listen to you after that, you always spout rubbish when you've been on the firewhisky,"

"Why? What did I say?" Harry's cheeks reddened slightly.

"You told me that you knew I still loved Ron and that he still loved me. You said that I needed to forget all of the arguments, to wipe the slate clean. You told me I needed to forgive him. And that we were made for each other, and that if I so much as smiled at him, he'd be on bended knees for me to forgive him. You told me to tell him I loved him!" Hermione's tone was accusing.

"Erm, right. Well, just goes to show doesn't it. That's why you're the brains of the operation," Harry took his glasses off again and started repolishing them.

"Oh right, and what does that make you?" Hermione nudged him with her elbow.

"The looker, obviously," Harry grinned widely, "Anyway, I didn't mean that you should try to do it at the dinner table, not with everyone watching us like bloody zoo animals,"

"I'd opened my heart to the possibility of reconciliation!" protested Hermione, "Like you'd told me to! I wanted to let him know that I was ready to talk to him! And he just grunted at me that he'd speak to me later and carried on shovelling beef wellington into his mouth,"

"If it's any excuse, I think he was even drunker than me,"

"Actually, that's no excuse," Hermione sniffed, "well when later came, he had just disappeared. I spent ages looking for him. And then when I found him….he…" even with her unusually large vocabulary, she was unable to find the words to express what it had been like to come across Ron and Lavender snogging on the dance floor, her arms wrapped round him like a venomous tentacula .

"The way you dragged him off her was absolutely terrifying, he didn't know what had hit him," Harry chuckled.

"Hmm," Hermione agreed, tight lipped.

"But then what happened between the two of you that made you decide that it was best that you just never acknowledged each other's presence again?" Harry's voice was gentle but probing, and he touched Hermione gently on the arm to prompt her.

"I don't want to talk about it," she mumbled, automatically.

"That's all you ever say about it. So does Ron. It's different for him though, he bottles things up. But you - you like to talk about things. You can't help yourself some of the time,"

"I can't," Hermione whispered, tracing the lace pattern of her dress with her finger tip.

"How bad can it be?" Harry urged, "I think you need to get it off your chest,"

Hermione swallowed deeply and nodded but still looked doubtful, "We both said a lot of things we didn't mean, and some that we did. It's hard to know which is which. I'd had a pregnancy scare a few months before it happened. I'd been worried about telling him, but he was great. I wasn't though. I panicked about it. It was all a fuss about nothing anyway, I never was pregnant. He….brought it up there. First we argued about him and Lavender, then back to the same old, him not taking the relationship seriously enough, me working too hard, him leaving the auror department," Harry nodded, he had sat through a number of arguments about that subject, "then he said that he was glad I hadn't been pregnant because the thought of being stuck with a poisonous bitch like me for the rest of his life was like hell, the thought of a child with half my genes was insufferable,"

Harry half rose off the chair, "I'm going to hit him," he growled, before Hermione was able to pull him back down.

"I deserved it. I said some things first Harry," tears at last sparkled in her eyes, "I said that all his fears were true and that you and me could have won the war without him. That Lavender was welcome to him and I didn't care they were together. That he wasn't the man you were. And he said that maybe I'd be better off with you…and I said…that he was right because he certainly wasn't good enough for me,"

Harry looked aghast, "you said that to him? But you don't mean it do you, I mean – you and me?"

"No, don't worry," Hermione smiled bitterly, "you're like a brother to me, but that's all Harry,"

"Then what?" Harry asked bravely although his face betrayed the fact that he didn't want to hear any more.

"That's the worst of it really. I said that I was glad I wasn't pregnant too, because he had ruined enough of my life and I was finally rid of him. He said he was glad and that he'd keep out of my way from then on and I said good and if I ever saw him again I'd hex his balls off. He said then that he thought I'd like that, then I could keep them in my handbag like I'd been trying to do our whole relationship and that I needed to leave him and his family alone and stop coming round to the Burrow bothering them with my problems like I had been. Then I slapped him and ran out into the garden and that was where you found me the next morning," the tumble of words stopped as they both remembered Harry coming across Hermione in the early hours of the morning, soaked in dew and tears, her teeth chattering too much to talk.

"Wow,"

"Still think I should have told you?" asked Hermione and Harry massaged his forehead absently. His scar had stopped hurting but his habit often re-emerged in times of stress.

"I'm glad you've told me. I just wish you hadn't said any of it in the first place,"

"Me too, that's why I didn't want to tell you,"

"But what's going to stop it happening again? I mean, I know Ron has developed a bit of an obsession with reading muggle self-help books. But you two, when you get going…."

"I know, I know. We've got to learn to talk to each other without losing our tempers – it's just Ron, he gets me so… arrrghh!"Hermione growled in frustration, stopping herself just in time from running her hands through her styled hair.

Harry laughed, "And he has from the moment you met him. Didn't stop you falling in love with him though did it,"

"This isn't what's going to happen now Harry, we aren't going to fall in love. This isn't going to be a happy ending,"

"We'll see," said Harry, grinning knowingly.

"No – honestly. Just no,"

"Well let's get you married, then you can take it from there," he looped his arm through hers and started leading her out of the door towards the marquee in the garden.

"Harry, honestly –no," Hermione dug her heels in and resisted like a cat being pushed towards a bath of water.

"Do I have to stun you and mobilicorpus you out there?" Harry grunted as he tried to drag her along, "Merlin, you're sturdier than you look,"

"Just give me a minute!" she shook him off. Harry stood in the doorway, obviously expecting her to bolt but she just stood very still, with her eyes closed, breathing deeply.

After nearly enough time had passed that he was thinking he should ask if she was ok, she looked up at him, a dazzling smile painted on her face and smoothed her hand over her curls

"I'm ready,"


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry it's been so long since I posted a chapter - I am definitely continuing this story and will be returning to posting a chapter every week or so, I just got way too busy over the Christmas holidays. Thank you for all the kind reviews I've had in the meantime.**

 **I feel a bit like the end of the last chapter was the end of act one, now we're moving into act two - I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

The first thing Hermione noticed as she entered the courtyard was that the tiny wizard that served as minister for all manner of official occasions had new robes. With the huge increase in wizarding weddings, he was probably coining it in, she thought cynically. The likely explosion in marriage ceremonies that he had been tasked with officiating would shortly be followed by naming ceremonies.

Everyone was standing looking at her, she saw her friends smiling encouragingly, Hagrid in the back, already needing to wipe his eyes on a dirty looking handkerchief, Neville hand in hand with Hannah Abbott who he had recently started dating. As she took her first nervous steps down the aisle, Ron stood resolutely with his back to her. It wasn't until she had passed the first couple of rows of seats that he turned to look at her. His face split into a wide, appreciative beam that Hermione thought looked almost genuine. A rush of gratitude and relief overtook her and she returned the smile. She took another few steps, past the sea of red hair that denoted the Weasley contingent, past Minerva McGonagall who was looking a little pink around the eyes but smiling with matriarchal pride.

Ron had had a haircut, she noticed, his fringe not falling quite so shaggily into the blue eyes that matched his deep navy dress robes so well. A flutter of something that felt like the champagne bubbles she'd sipped earlier fizzed away inside her as she reached the top of the aisle to stand next to him. Ron reached out and gripped the tips of her clammy fingers reassuringly with his dry warm hand.

The little wizard nodded questioningly at her to check that she was ready to start before addressing the crowd and she nodded back. There wasn't going to be any last minute reprieve, no lynx patronus arriving to tell her that the law had been dropped even though she had made Kingsley promise that he would send one on the off chance it should happen in the hours preceding the ceremony. She really was going to be married to Ron. The boy whose name she had doodled in runes on her text books. The man who broke her heart in ways that she wouldn't have even thought possible. They were going to be linked and nothing would ever be the same again. Screwing up her courage, she nodded in agreement and he looked up to address their audience.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the joining of two souls in magical matrimony.

"Do you Ronald Bilius take Hermione Jean?" Ron took a heavy swallow, his Adams apple bobbing up and down above the collar of his dress robes, then cleared his throat once, twice before nodding curtly.

"I do," he confirmed, with a quick squeeze of her hand in his.

The tiny wizard then turned his attention to her "Do you, Hermione Jean, take Ronald Bilius?" he quavered.

This was the bit she had to say yes, she knew it was. So why was her mouth clamped shut, her teeth gritted together? Why was she shifting her weight onto the balls of her feet, as if to flee? The urge to shake her head back and forth was almost dizzyingly overwhelming. She glanced guiltily at Ron, saw him watching her, his blue eyes wide and trusting.

"I do," she choked out.

Does anyone here have any objections to this union? A nervy giggle rippled across the assembled guests as the pause stretched out for an agonising moment. A flicker of movement at the back of the tent made Hermione jump, her heart leaping up queasily to her throat, but it was just a balloon drifting in the breeze. She had to bite back hysteria at the thought of Draco charging in and objecting.

The elderly wizard nodded, satisfied that he had given people a fair chance to speak up and a tiny piece of the knotted tension in Hermione's shoulders eased. No one was going to stand up and shout out that they shouldn't be getting married, that it was all a sham.

"Then I declare you bonded for life," he waved his wand with a triumphant flourish and glittering confetti rained down upon them. Hermione was a little confused. She had been to magical weddings before and never noticed any magic but after the betrothal spell she had assumed that some magic must take place that was invisible to onlookers. It had just been words though, and she was unchanged. A double helix of relief and anti-climax swirled around inside her. The guests seemed to be waiting for something too – their applause was thin and uncertain. Had it not worked, she wondered. Could the marriage spell somehow weed out frauds, like a romantic version of a thief's downfall? Her brow furrowed slightly and she looked to the minister for reassurance. He too looked slightly nervous and was waggling his eyebrows at her and nodding towards Ron urgently.

She turned to look at Ron and saw he was grinning at her. She made a tiny shrug with her shoulders and he rolled his eyes amusedly before inclining his head down to her. Embarrassed realisation crashed over her like a tidal wave, that she had forgotten this part.

She felt as much as heard him murmuring to her gently against her lips, his voice little more than a low rumble, "I'm going to kiss you now."

Hermione nodded as she took in a sharp intake of breath. His hand slid to the small of her back, she could feel it warm and heavy, heating her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

As his lips brushed feather soft against hers, she felt it, the sharp jolt of her magic tugging at her, eager for the connection, urging her to deepen the kiss.

Then it was like a dam breaking - just a trickle at first before her magic burst joyously out of her and flowed into him and his magic poured just as irresistibly into her and it was like molten lava, all hot and golden and unstoppable, flowing between them. Her fingers tightened around his arm and his other hand was in her hair, pulling her closer, pinning her to him.

She could hear everyone cheering and clapping but it was tinny and distant above the roar of magic in her ears. Somehow she was above the scene, watching herself kissing Ron for all she was worth, and at the same time she was very tiny, existing only in the point where their lips met. Gradually the cheers turned to giggles and their magic calmed and they pulled away from each other, Ron smiled sheepishly at her, his mouth pink with lipstick and kissing. Then he raised their joined hands above his head, cheering to their guests as though he had won the Quidditch cup.

oOoOoOo

"Thought for a minute you weren't going to go through with it there," Harry laughed quietly in relief as he handed her a glass of champagne, "I didn't fancy being the one to have to tell Ron his bride had done a bunk,"

They both looked at Ron who was still looking slightly dazed and having his hand pumped vigorously up and down by Hagrid, "I'm sure he would have been delighted,"

Harry gave her the same knowing look that he had made before the ceremony, "I saw the way he was looking at you during the ceremony, the way he kissed you,"

"It's just for show," Hermione dismissed him shortly. However, his grin over his glass just increased, particularly when her cheeks started to flush,

"Hermione. There isn't any press here, or Ministry Officials. Only your close friends and family, who know the full story. Just who exactly is the show for? Who do you think needed fooling that you had to snog for quite that long?"

"Oh – just…" Hermione spluttered, at a loss for anything more sensible to say, as she swatted Harry on the arm, "I told you; this isn't going to have some fairytale happy ending,"

Harry grew serious at last, "About what you said to me before, about the fight you had. It's a bit like Dumbledore isn't it. He knew the power of love because he had hurt a loved one. You two know now how badly you can hurt each other, so you can be careful not to do it again,"

"I'm sure the law will be overturned soon," Hermione sighed, looking again to her husband, who was now being given a glass of something ominously bright green by George. As if she had called his name, he looked over to her and smiled widely.

"Just…be careful. With Ron. I'm not sure he's quite as pragmatic as you think. I think this might have become something else for him. And out of interest, just what were you thinking of back there to calm yourself down? It was quite the transformation,"

Hermione went a bit pink and bit back a smile, "I was imagining what I would do to Umbridge if I had her there at that moment," she attempted, and failed to look contrite.

Harry burst out laughing at her confession, which in turn set Hermione off.

"I'd pay good money to see that," Harry chuckled, "Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a bridesmaid over there that I need to go and chat up," Ginny waved to the pair of them from where she was dancing madly with Luna.

Hermione felt strangely detached from the whole scene as she watched the whirling couples on the dance floor and the small groups of people around the outside, chatting happily. It reminded her of the feeling during the ceremony of watching from afar. She was just wondering if she could sneak out and go back to the Burrow for a cup of tea when she saw Ron approaching holding two glasses of champagne. Nerves fluttered horribly in the pit of her stomach as he grinned easily at her and she longed for Harry's invisibility cloak so she could get away from him. It was all too much – the kiss, what Harry had said – all just too much. Like she was being wrapped up in a great big blanket of Ron-ness and, well, she may as well admit it to herself, it terrified her. That she might get wrapped up in it forever. Worse, that she might forget that she ever wanted to get out. She'd get all comfortable and then bam, he'd rip it away like he had before.

"You look like you've been hit with a bludger," he handed her a glass and leant up against one of the posts holding up the marquee, thankfully a decent distance away from her as she wasn't sure her jangling nerve endings would be able to stand having him too close, "It's all a bit much isn't it," he made a sweeping gesture with his arm that encompassed everything in the marquee, themselves included. However, he didn't seem to require a response and was happy to just stand and watch the dancers too, as they sipped the champagne.

Although she had told him countless times already, somehow, being at their wedding made her feel newly entitled to repeat herself, "thank you," she murmured, tilting her glass to him.

His nose wrinkled in confusion, "Well, the waiter did most of the work - I just snatched a couple of glasses off the tray as he walked past."

"Not for the champagne," she snorted in laughter, "for marrying me!"

"Oh yeah! I'd almost forgotten it wasn't real. Huh," Ron frowned, puzzled, "I suppose I'd always thought this would be what my wedding would be like anyway."

"What, even down to the choice of bride?"

"I suppose. I mean, I've never thought about marrying anyone else, it was always you, so, yeah, I guess,"

Hermione took a sharp intake of breath but in contrast, Ron seemed completely matter of fact, as though he were merely discussing the weather.

"You look nice. Oh bloody hell. I mean…not just nice. Beautiful."

He didn't quite manage to hide a glance over to the dance floor to make sure his sister wasn't in earshot.

"Ginny got to you too?"

"So did mum. And Bill. But only Ginny threatened the removal of body parts. You do look beautiful though,"

"And you look very handsome," Hermione smiled primly, reaching out and brushing her fingertips over his buttonhole and gasping in delight as the white rose bud bloomed under her finger tips, its petals furling outwards. She looked at Ron to see if he'd noticed but he was just looking a bit too smug.

"Why Ronald Weasley," she giggled, "have you got…moves?"

Ron laughed, "Oh you haven't even seen the start of my moves, just you wait. I've got moves that'll knock your socks off!"

Hermione blushed at the thought of what moves Ron might be thinking about showing her and he must've realised what was going through her mind because he too reddened and stammered out an apology, "I didn't mean those kind of moves!"

"Do you think if we both just admit that this is all a bit awkward, it'll stop feeling like it is?" Hermione asked.

They stood in contemplative silence for a moment, sipping their champagne. Hermione could help herself wondering whether Ron had learnt any of 'those kind of moves' during their time apart. Whilst she had certainly had no complaints about their sex life before, and she found the thought of him with all of those other women distasteful, she couldn't help but be curious if he would kiss differently, touch her differently. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut to try and block out the salacious slideshow of memories that her mind had chosen to dredge up and show to her.

"No, I don't think so do you?" grimaced Ron.

"Nope, definitely still awkward," agreed Hermione, nodding her head enthusiastically.

"Want to dance?" Ron gestured to their friends who were jumping around, following Luna's lead as she bopped up and down, seemingly to a completely different rhythm to the lively song playing.

"Absolutely," Hermione sighed in relief that they wouldn't have to continue the conversation any longer.

However, it seemed that fate was not going to make it that easy for them and the moment they reached the centre of the dance floor, the song ended, making way for a slow number. Schmaltzy music piped through the air and judging by the way that Molly leapt out of her seat with surprising sprightliness, dragging Arthur behind her, it was a Celestina Warbeck number. Hermione glanced around in panic and saw Ginny melt into Harry's arms and Luna whirling around happily on her own.

"Want to dance, wife?" Ron offered his hand to her.

"You're very brave calling me that when your feet will be in stamping distance for the next three to five minutes," she retorted, allowing him to lead her around the dance floor.

They turned around on the floor, Ron maintaining a polite distance from her, his hands on her shoulder and waist so lightly she could barely feel them, as he gazed off into the middle distance.

Eventually Hermione couldn't bear it any more, "What is it?" she snapped, nudging him none too gently with her elbow.

"Well if I can't call you my wife, and you won't be Mrs Weasley, what am I supposed to call you?" Ron replied, a sulky petulance colouring his tone.

Hermione sighed, "We've been over this! I don't want to lose my name. It's easier for work if I stay Granger. Plus I'm not a set of school robes, I don't need your name spelled into my collar in case I get lost and need returning to you. Just call me the evil harpy or the she-devil like you normally do when you're talking about me."

"I never –" Ron coloured angrily, "Oh ha ha. Don't put words in my mouth. It just seems odd to me, that's all, wizarding families are much more traditional. It's just not normal."

"Well this isn't a normal marriage is it?"

"No, I suppose not. Sorry. I know things are different for muggles but you and Harry have given up all your other muggle stuff so much that I sometimes forget. I'm not meaning to be an arse about it. Let's just forget I said anything," but he looked a bit sad as he said it and Hermione remembered what Harry had said about Ron's feelings. Then she thought about how he had gone along with getting married to her almost without argument and, with a grinding, grudging, hateful feeling that she might have to back down in an argument, decided to give him this at least.

"How about Ms Granger-Weasley? You can stay Mr Weasley – you don't have to take my name or anything!" she finished hurriedly.

Ron's face brightened, "Yeah, I like that."

Then Charlie tapped her on the shoulder and asked if he could have a turn dancing with his new sister, and Ron said he had better dance with his mum, so they parted. But when Hermione looked across the dance floor at him, he was still grinning at her over the top of his mum's head.

oOoOoOo

All too soon, guests were kissing them goodbye, pressing their hands with congratulations, having seemingly forgotten in the whirl of confetti and music that the wedding wasn't real. Hermione didn't want the evening to end, not because it would signal the passing of the happiest day of her life, as some brides might feel, but because she was dreading what must surely come next. When there were only a handful of people milling around – Hagrid sat in deep conversation with Charlie, who held an endless fascination for him; Harry and Ginny still dancing to the softly playing music; Molly and Arthur, looking tired but happy as they sat hand in hand, content to survey the scene before them. Hermione started a few absent waves of her wand, setting right a chair that had been knocked over and stacking glasses neatly on a tray, before Ron came wandering towards her.

"Do you think we should…erm…" he trailed off, swallowing visibly, before inclining his head towards the house. She knew what he meant. Of course she did. Even without Ron's lack of subtlety, the thing that they had to do had been weighing heavily on her mind. In typical fashion they had not discussed the events that they both knew must follow their wedding, other than a passing agreement that they would spend the night in the Burrow.

Just the thought of lying next to Ron in his now magically enlarged bed, with the sporting heroes of his youth staring down disapprovingly from their now curled and faded Chudley Cannons poster, with Mr and Mrs Weasley in the room down the hall and Harry and Ginny on the floor below made her toes curl with shame and her lady parts desiccate.

"Just five more minutes," she sighed, her brow furrowed as she syphoned red wine out of a tablecloth, playing for time.

Ron reached out, and just pressed the tips of his fingers to the back of her free hand for a second, "OK, reckon I'll just get a bit more to eat, mum's done enough for an army. We could camp out in this marquee for a week and not run out of food. Perhaps we could hide in here in the morning when the Ministry Official comes."

Hermione's face lit up in delight, "Oh Ron, that's brilliant! I could kiss you!" she whirled around, reinvigorated, transfiguring the now clean tablecloth into a bag, summoning all manner of things to her so quickly that Ron could see little more than blurs disappearing into the bag.

"Well, we are married now, I don't suppose that would be….hey, are they my trousers?" Ron watched as a procession of his clothes zipped across the garden from the house.

Hermione looked apologetically to Molly and Arthur who had come over to see what had caused the flurry of activity, "I'm so sorry. You might have some questions to answer tomorrow when the Ministry Official comes calling. Not that they should complain, they wanted us to do this wedding properly. But, still, they won't be happy," in response to Molly's questioning look, she elaborated, "We're going on honeymoon," before grabbing Ron tightly by the arm and disapparating.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: The characters and storylines mentioned here all belong to JK Rowling**

 **Massive beta thanks to kabg01 - I couldn't do it without her.**

* * *

"Where are we?" Ron asked in trepidation, gazing around the dusky woodland.

"Forest of Dean," muttered Hermione, as she pulled her wand from the sleeve of her dress and began waving it widely, her mouth moving slightly as she uttered an incantation under her breath.

Ron sighed good-naturedly, "Again?"

"I told you, it's where my parents used to bring me on holiday. Just try not to jump in any frozen lakes this time."

"Just please tell me you haven't got that old tent squirrelled away somewhere?" he looked her up and down suspiciously, apparently not too keen to spend another night in the fusty, cat scented tent that they had spent so long in. Hermione shook her head distractedly, concentrating on her incantations. Ron seemed to know better than interrupt her while her hand was gripped so closely around her wand and she frowned towards a point in the middle distance that he wasn't able to identify; and just kicked a few frosty leaves around the bare ground.

Suddenly, a ripple passed through the air, almost knocking the pair of them off their feet and sending birds screeching from bare tree tops.

"Woah," Ron murmured, impressed, as he surveyed the log cabin that had suddenly appeared in front of him. Hermione just smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear, trying not to look too pleased with herself at the neat bit of magic she had used to conceal, and subsequently reveal, the cabin.

"What is this place?" he asked, surveying the small, birch clad building. It had a deep veranda in the front that housed a swing chair; and an uneven, lichen furred slate roof. Its small windows glinted in the evening gloom. It had the same crooked manner as the Burrow and looked almost as though it had grown organically, just popping out of the ground like a mushroom. Ron fell in love with it immediately.

"I bought it a couple of years ago. I needed somewhere quiet to get some peace after, well, you know. When we – when the papers were full of stories about us breaking up. I just wanted somewhere to get away to."

She had made it sound almost like a health resort. He didn't need to know the days she had paced to and fro, raving out loud in one sided arguments with him. She would keep secret the nights she had cried until her throat was raw and her eyes were swollen, the fact that she had to heal the bones in her hand after she had ill-advisedly punched a wall on one occasion. So she couldn't blame him when he had hummed in approval, probably admiring the neat log store, or the hammock that swung lightly between two nearby trees, an impervious cast over it to stop it filling up with leaves. She tried to ignore the niggling fear that bringing him here, to her private sanctuary, was a mistake as she swung open the front door.

"No need for security alarms here. Not with that masking charm you had over the place – very clever. You'll have to teach me that one." Ron said admiringly, his eyes still darting over the features of the cabin as he followed Hermione in. She tried to mask a noise of surprise as a cough that Ron, who was never keen on homework at the best of times, wanted to learn spells from her of all people.

She basked in the compliment, "The trick is that it wasn't invisible, it just looks exactly like the rest of the forest – oh –" she was cut off as she surveyed the mess inside. A silty tidemark rose several inches above the floor on every surface and the wooden boards underfoot were warped and discoloured. A damp, muddy smell pervaded the air. The curtains and quilt on the bed were darkly stained from the bottom up, as though they had wicked the dirty water up their length. The books from the bottom shelf of the bookcase were open on the floor, their pages wavy with damp. Hermione bent down and flipped up the corner of the large rag rug, showing the underneath to be thick with black mildew, "There must have been a flood," she murmured, cursing herself for having placed such a high number of security spells on the cabin, only to forget to protect it from the elements. Too late she remembered to hitch up the skirt of her wedding dress which was dragging in the dirt.

Ron patted her arm reassuringly, "Shall we tidy up together? We should be able to make a decent job of it," he removed his wand from his pocket.

They stood back to back and moved their wands simultaneously in a wide sweeping motion. As the dusty scum began to vanish from the skirting and furniture legs, Hermione gasped and almost dropped her wand. She could feel Ron's magic, melding with her own, making something more powerful than the sum of their parts. She heard him exhale in a huff and knew he could feel it too. Stains disappeared from soft furnishings and the books straightened themselves out. A few brown leaves popped into nothingness. Even her wedding dress became clean and before long Hermione was satisfied.

"Well that was quite something wasn't it," Ron wondered aloud, staring down at his wand, "I could feel you. Is that normal? No one's ever told me about that before."

"No idea," replied Hermione, suddenly itching to get to the library and read up on joint magic performed by married couples.

"Tomorrow," Ron laughed softly, elaborating as Hermione looked at him in confusion, "You can go to the library tomorrow. It's too late now, it'll be shut."

"Did I -?" Hermione's fingers drifted absently to her lips, wondering if she had spoken out loud by accident or if the marriage spell had somehow allowed Ron access to her mind.

He grinned, "I've seen that look on your face many times and it's almost always followed by you saying that you were off to the library to check something out. Now please don't take this as an indication of my future prowess but I'm knackered, I'm half pissed and if I don't go to sleep in about the next ten minutes, I'm going to fall over."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. After a seemingly endless day, that powerful joint magic had been quite draining and she was longing for nothing more than to put her pyjamas on and get into bed. The thought that they could avoid the inevitable task for a little longer relaxed her still further. She went to fetch the little cotton bag that she had dropped in the porch to get their toothbrushes and nightclothes but by the time she had got back, Ron was already on the bed asleep.

oOoOoOo

When Hermione awoke, Ron was still sprawled across the bed, fully clothed in his dress robes next to her, snoring lightly. She was glad she had thought to enlarge both the bed and the cosy tartan bedspread that she loved so much just as her eyes were closing the night before – she had remembered of old what a bed hogger he was. Slipping silently out from under the cover and summoning her dressing gown to her, she made her way to the kettle to make herself a cup of tea. Looked around the cabin in satisfaction – little more than one wooden walled room with a small bathroom through a door by the sleeping area but she had worked muggle technology and magic together perfectly to create her sanctuary just as she wanted it.

As she sat at the small kitchen table by the stove, sipping the steaming brew, she took a moment to admire her handiwork before realising that it was very much a cabin for one. With a small frown she duplicated the chair she was sitting on and elongated the sofa before waving her wand to the cupboard where a chinking of china told her that she had been successful in doubling her meagre amount of crockery. That would have to do; she wasn't prepared to do any enlargement charms on such an old wooden building. Besides, they might decide they hated each other and needed to go home in half an hour.

The gloomy thought followed her to the bathroom. Although she had managed to channel electricity into the cabin through a ridiculously complex spell of her own invention that she would've just loved to have shown off about but had kept quiet because she couldn't even imagine the repercussions of the wizarding world mastering modern technology; heating the water in the tank where it collected on the roof, in a non-magical fashion, had been beyond even her. Leave plumbing to the muggles, she smiled as she cast a warming charm over the bath, causing steam to rise out of the water. It wasn't until she had washed out the remains of her bridal hairstyle that she had managed to convince herself that her and Ron were both adults and they were quite capable of spending a few days together without killing each other. As long as they stuck to neutral conversations they should be fine. Just the small task of consummating their marriage to get over, then they could go home. Could she hide in the bathroom forever, she wondered, submerging herself entirely under the water.

When she finally left her hiding place, Ron had woken up and was wandering round aimlessly, picking up knick-knack and examining them before putting them back down again and flicking through the books on the shelves.

"You better have been careful when you got those," Hermione gestured to the casual clothes that he had replaced his dress robes with, "All the clothes were folded up neatly in the bag."

Ron grimaced. They had argued over his careless rummaging in the beaded bag on more than one occasion when they had been away and he wasn't keen to revisit the conversation, "No, everything's exactly as you left it," he assured her.

"Did you want breakfast or anything?" she asked him stiffly, dying to grab the paperweight out of his hands and put it back in exactly the right spot.

"No I'm good, I got a couple of sandwiches out of the bag. Don't worry, I didn't drop any crumbs!" he held his hands up defensively.

"Hmmm," she hummed absently, eyeing where he had eventually put the paperweight back.

Either Ron misinterpreted her silence or was wrestling with his own problems but suddenly he burst out, "Look. Don't get cross at me for suggesting this but do you think we should just get it over with. You know," he nodded his head towards the bed.

Hermione's throat constricted and her muscles tensed. Now? Already? She had to visualise the Gryffindor lion for several long moments before she felt brave enough to even consider the idea and realise he had a point. The longer they left it, the bigger thing it was going to become between them and besides, they couldn't go home without doing it. It was just that they were still so awkward with each other, almost as though they had never been intimate with each other before. Still, she supposed that wasn't going to go away in a hurry. She nodded, causing him to return the affirmative gesture, his face pale and a muscle in his jaw working in and out. .

With as much grace as she could muster, she climbed under the cover and wriggled out of her clothes, trying not to meet Ron's eyes as he watched in amusement as a procession of garments dropped out of the side of the bed. Eventually she was done, the covers pulled up to her neck. He stripped his t-shirt and jeans off with casual ease, making her feel even sillier.

"I don't know why you're hiding, I know what you look like. You've not gone and got a massive tattoo or something have you?" He tweaked the cover up, making her squeal and try to kick him, denying it furiously as she yanked it back, "I've got a tattoo," he told her, seeming both proud and embarrassed at the same time as he turned his back to show a ghostly Jack Russell gambolling over his right shoulder blade. She tried to concentrate on it instead of the scar down the left hand side of his back which had happened when he was an Auror - a raid gone wrong, the reports had said. He had nearly died from the curse that had hit him when his back was turned. Looking at it even now sent a long forgotten thrill of fear and upset through her and recalled hours spent crying at the side of his bed in St Mungo's. Ron didn't seem to mind her lack of admiration of his tattoo, "Got it when I was drunk at Seamus and Dean's joint stag do," he admitted. Despite his teasing of Hermione about her shyness he kept his pants on when he slipped under the covers. "Now what?" he sat by her side, facing forwards, making no attempt to touch her.

Hermione sighed, folding her arms over her chest, "Oh well this is romantic isn't it Ronald, thank you for trying to make this as easy as possible,"

"Oi! I just mean should I – can I…kiss you?"

"I suppose," she conceded, although the thought of his lips against hers, him so close to her made her feel panicky and trapped. It wasn't that she didn't find him attractive, she was forced to concede as she sneaked a look at his muscular frame, his pale skin that she used to love to run her hands over; it was more that she had finally become comfortable with him, stopped being angry with him after so long, and now this was going to pick up her feelings and toss them up into the air again. She was scared of how they were going to fall.

They both inclined their head one way, then the other, giggling nervously, before finally their lips met. Ron's mouth was soft and dry against hers as he gave her the gentlest of closed mouth kisses. Even that small connection made her eyes prick with the beginning of tears. Carefully, he lowered her down to the mattress. She could feel his hands trembling against her arms. It reminded her of the first time they had made love, back in her parent's house in Cambridge. Too late, she realised her mind had wandered onto the subject of her parents and where they might be, hoping that they were happy, wherever they were. She was jolted forcibly back into reality when Ron leant on her hair painfully.

"Ow!" she snapped, pulling away from him with a wrench. He reddened and apologised nervously. Sighing, Hermione summoned the bag to pull out a hair tie to avoid further accidents. Blushing furiously, she also pulled out a tube of lubricant that she had thought would make things easier.

Ron eyed the tube nervously, the tips of his ears beet red, "Should I put it on for you?" his voice cracked a little as he asked.

"No! Absolutely not!" Hermione wondered for a moment if maybe death would be better than the mortification she felt as she fumbled under the covers with the tube of cold slimy gel.

They kissed for a few minutes, lying rigidly side by side, but honestly, Hermione could have been reading a book or eating a sandwich for all the arousal she felt. Her heart was pounding painfully fast and having Ron so close, her nostrils full of the scent that always now reminded her of amortentia, made her feel like she couldn't breathe. Keen to get it over with, she parted her legs and tried to pull him on top of her.

"I suppose that technically it only has to go in, neither of us need to…" she said briskly, intending the words as encouragement but as she looked up into his scowling face, she realised that they might not have sounded quite that way.

"Now who's killing the romance? I, er, I don't know how to say this but I'm not…you know...hard," he gestured down under the cover.

"Do you want me to try a spell?" she asked, lifting the cover. She had read up on arousal spells, hoping that she wouldn't have to use them but feeling better to be prepared.

Ron sprang away from her, scrabbling backwards like a wet cat, "No way! You are not going to engorgio my…thingy! Just give me a minute," then it was his turn to reach under the covers. Hermione tried to look the other way as Ron's hand worked with increasingly frantic motions, his mouth a grim set line of determination. Hot tentacles of shame roiled in the pit of her stomach, that she was subjecting him to this, that the idea must be so unappealing to him that he couldn't get aroused. She breathed deeply through her nose and gritted her teeth, forbidding the tears pooling in her eyes to fall down onto her cheeks.

Were they really adults? Adults who had previously had a successful relationship no less. She wondered if they would be able to obliviate each other after this or whether this memory would be so shameful it would forever be burned onto their brains.

"Oh this is impossible, Ron we've barely even kissed. This isn't going to work," she pushed her hair frustratedly out of her eyes.

Ron sagged back against the mattress in relief and tucked an arm behind his head, "Oh thank Merlin. I'm sorry Hermione, this just doesn't feel right to me. It's not you, honestly – it's just, the pressure."

"Lets just relax. I've brought enough food for a few days. Perhaps if we can just spend some time together it'll be easier," Hermione's voice sounded doubtful even to her but as long as it was delaying the inevitable she was prepared to try and delude herself a little longer. She would have probably said anything, sworn black was white, if only to end the humiliation of the previous few minutes. Despite having only just had a bath, she felt a desperate need to go and scrub herself from head to toe.

They then both scrambled back into their clothes as though if they didn't get dressed immediately, someone might come along and persuade them to have another go. Hermione was pleased to see Ron made a point of turning his back and resolutely not looking in her direction. Needing to still put further distance between them, Hermione decided to go and pick up some books to read, whereas Ron thought that he would like a walk in the woods and so they managed to pass the rest of the day almost without seeing each other.

It wasn't until they were preparing for bed that Hermione felt the need to break the silence that had sprung up between them, "You know, it's odd being able to just pop to the shops and get something, I was half looking for the invisibility cloak before I remembered I could just walk into the library and ask for what I wanted."

"Do you think holidays are going to be spoiled forever for us by the very hungry camping trip?" it had taken them several years to even be able to refer to their time with good humour but they had eventually settled on this name for it.

"I don't know, that trip to Atlantis we did for the Millennium was pretty good," they both smiled, remembering the holiday they had taken with Ginny and Harry to the wizard run resort then seemed to both suffer from the awkwardness that occurs when two people who have drifted apart reminisce about how they used to be close. Hermione wondered if there was a word in the German language to describe that very feeling.

"Shall I…er…get the light?" Ron asked, gesturing to the lamps with his wand.

"No need," Hermione reached over to the light switch, "Muggle magic," and they were plunged into pitch blackness.

"Night 'Mione," Ron whispered in the darkness from somewhere close by her ear and then Hermione felt like he kissed her on the top of the head but she tried to tell herself that maybe she imagined it or he had got confused in the darkness.

"Stop trying to make 'Mione happen. It's not going to happen," she blustered to cover her embarrassment, folding her arms over her chest. She could positively feel him grinning. With a huff she rolled over and tried to go to sleep.

oOoOoOo

Hermione woke before Ron again. She had forgotten his irritating habit of being able to sleep in for hours when they didn't have to get up for anything. He used to try and maintain that his internal alarm clock was an essential survival skill and that he had been praised highly for it at the Auror training academy but she wasn't sure what exactly his excuse was nowadays. She picked up her book, determined to read more about the merging of magic between married people, but she found her eyes kept drifting off the page to idly watch the regular rise and fall of Ron's chest. With a thump, she shut her book, hoping that would wake him up but other than a gentle snort, he didn't stir. His hair was a messy mop over his forehead that Hermione could only just resist sweeping back from his face, and his chin had a light dusting of stubble. Watching him sleep, seeing his pale eyelashes resting on his cheek, the skin of his eyelids so thin that she could almost see the flow of blood through them, his expressive mouth relaxed, made her ache with something like sadness.

She lay back down next to him, leaning on her elbow and just looked. He hadn't changed much in the few years they had been apart – the laughter lines around his eyes were a little more defined, he had a couple of new freckles, but everything else was just the same. The echo of the love she had felt for him resounded so strongly through her as he lay there that it scared her. It wasn't real, she told herself - just because she could remember perfectly how it would feel if he were to wrap his arms around her in that minute – it was just nostalgia, or hormones or something. If her feelings were genuine and reciprocated, then they wouldn't have had that train wreck of an attempt to consummate their marriage. Why had it gone so wrong? Was it just nerves or did Ron really not fancy her at all? She knew she would be lying to herself if she didn't admit that she found Ron attractive still. So why had she made everything worse, going all stiff and formal, treating it like a medical procedure?

She forced herself to get out of bed when she realised her hands were on the verge of straying over his bare chest, and took her book out onto the veranda. Eventually the need for a cup of tea drove her back inside by which time he had got out of bed and was studying a large set of plans that he had unrolled on the small table, so engrossed that he didn't even notice her come in and make herself a drink. After a moment's agonised deliberation, she pulled a second mug out of the cupboard and made Ron a cup too, setting it down on the table without a word.

* * *

 **I'm so sorry for the world's most awkward sex scene! There is a part two to the honeymoon coming in the next few days which will hopefully be a bit less awful! Reviews would be lovely.**


	17. Chapter 17

**I am SO grateful to everyone who has read and reviewed this fic so far. Especially those of you who review every single chapter - that is just going above and beyond in terms of awesomeness.**

 **Also, mega thanks to kabg01. I don't think I'd be this far along with this if it wasn't for her encouragement.**

 **Sorry this chapter's so long but y'know, stuff's gotta get done :-)**

* * *

Ron looked up in surprise at the mug that had been placed in front of him on the table. If he hadn't seen Hermione's retreating form, and had at least one of the exceptions to Gamp's law forcefully instilled into his brain in many a hungry hour, he would have thought the tea had appeared by magic. Cautiously, he gave it a sniff, feeling a little like Mad Eye Moody. Surely Hermione wouldn't try and do him in? He was being ridiculous and he knew it. He took a small sip, allowing a rapturous expression to open up his face. Merlin the witch could make a good cup of tea. He hadn't realised he had missed it. There were probably a hundred other things about her that he hadn't even noticed he was missing, he realised as he took a larger gulp, making little attempt to stifle his groan of pleasure. He glanced over at her, curled up on the sofa, to see that she had been watching him the whole time. He scowled in embarrassment, trying to will the easy flow of blood to his face to cease but she just took a sip of her own brew and turned her eyes to her book.

Although he turned his attentions back to the blueprints of the Woolworth Building in New York – the home of MACUSA – he found his thoughts and eyes drifting more than once to his wife who was sat engrossed in her book. On several occasions, he thought he experienced the feeling of being watched but when he looked up, she was turning a page, or frowning intently at something she had read, so he must have imagined it.

After several hours, during which he had done little more than make small notes with a quill on the plans, he stretched his arms up behind his head with a yawn, wincing as his shoulders popped. He really wasn't designed for sitting at a desk, he acknowledged, wishing he had his broom with him so he could go for a quick fly and really work the kinks out of his stiff neck. With more smugness than he thought was attractive, he noticed that Hermione's gaze had been drawn from her book to the spot where his stretching had caused his t shirt to ride up. He eyed her steadily, making no effort to correct his clothing, until she noticed his scrutiny and looked up to meet his eyes. Now it was her turn to blush.

"Want to play a game?" he asked, noticing the darkness encroaching through the window and realising he didn't want to return to his work.

Hermione agreed, nerves and curiosity warring on her face as she slipped her bookmark into her book and replaced it on the shelf. Ron summoned their tea mugs and washed them under the sink before retrieving a bottle of Ogden's Old out of the bag and coming to sit next to her on the sofa.

"Twenty questions," he stated simply, handing her an empty mug and pouring a healthy measure of firewhisky into it, "if you don't want to answer, you have to have a drink."

"Ten questions each," confirmed Hermione, "I'll go first," she offered, taking a sip of the warming drink. They were both familiar with this game – Ron had invented it when he had upset Hermione and hadn't realised why, early on in their relationship – and had played it a number of times when there was something they wanted to talk about but needed strict parameters in order to prevent it descending into a row.

Hermione smiled and asked him a question that she almost always asked him in the game. It wasn't particularly challenging but she asked it now to show him that she remembered how they used to play it, that his effort at nostalgia wasn't wasted, "What would your boggart look like?"

Ron leaned back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling, "I know you think I'll say spiders, I always say spiders but I found a boggart a few months back in an old storage chest in the shop…" he paused, letting out a soft laugh, although it wasn't really funny, "It was Fred and George – I mean – George looked like he did now. But Fred was all….." he retched, making an ineffective gesture with his hands that in no way indicated a rotting corpse and yet he could see that Hermione understood fully. She patted him softly on the arm, murmuring her apologies and looking away in case he needed a moment to recover but he soon rallied.

Ron, ever the strategist thought carefully, chewing his lip a little as he decided to start with something to throw Hermione off her guard in the hope of distracting her from probing more fully into his answer, "Why are you still hiding away in the Magical Creatures department, instead of working towards being Minister?" and was rewarded when she blinked hard in surprise.

"That's breaking a rule – no leading questions!" she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I've never liked that rule," Ron grinned as he took a sip of firewhisky, making no effort to rephrase the question.

"It's safe," she admitted after long enough of a pause that Ron had started to worry that he had made a mistake, "I can hide. Not from people, nothing like that. From complicated decisions – unpalatable decisions. At the moment I know what's right and what's wrong. Should house elves have rights? Of course! Should Werewolves be made to register themselves? No! All nice and black and white and tied up in a little package. It's boring and it's slow going but I know what the answer should be. What should be done to increase the sharply declining wizarding population? Not so simple. I got scared of making decisions like that. I thought that if you could make a decision and stick to it, even to the point of breaking us up – and I couldn't understand why – maybe I wasn't cut out for the complexities of high politics," she looked down into her lap sadly and Ron felt like a heel for asking her, albeit only until she parried his question with one of her own.

"How much do you think your insecurity had to do with leaving the Auror department?"

His immediate reaction was to remind her of what George had done, to angrily assert that it was an entirely selfless decision, but a moment's pause changed his track, "It wasn't quite like that. It was more like I was still in Harry's shadow. I was beating him in every exam and exercise but he was the one who was getting the knowing nods about promotion, he was the one who was always being touted around as the future of the auror department. For a while I did think it was me just being an idiot but when the test results are there on the page in black and white, it's hard to argue with that one. It wasn't his fault – he hated it as much as I did. So I suppose a bit of it was running away. But I really did love being an auror. Just, you know, wearing the robes, everyone knowing that you're important. Plus the fact that storming around fighting bad guys, it's not exactly new news for us is it? I remember after our first raid – looking for dark artefacts in some old wizard's house who had been suspected of killing his wife – one of the other trainees was sick with the stress of it. Actually sick on the pavement and I remember thinking, this is easy! I can do this! And you loved it, loved introducing me to people 'this is my boyfriend, the auror'. Was that why you got so pissed off with me for quitting?"

"Is that your next question?" Hermione asked. Although he hadn't meant it as such, Ron nodded in agreement.

"No of course it wasn't because I'd miss having an auror for a boyfriend! I thought you were running away and that you'd regret it," she answered simply. Something in her eyes told Ron that whilst this answer was truthful and complete, it could have very easily been expanded to detail exactly how he had disappointed her in every word and action around that time. He was about to press her for more information, when he remembered shamefully how he had offered to fix her up with one of his auror friends, and thought better of it.

"Can you still produce a patronus?" Hermione asked, her gaze distant and her tone thoughtful.

Ron frowned in confusion and waved his wand muttering, "Expecto Patronum," and his Jack Russell patronus appeared for a few seconds, although it was indistinct and faded quickly, "I'm probably a bit out of practice," he offered by way of explanation, watching Hermione as she scowled after the shadowy dog.

"Can't you?" he asked, curiosity suddenly alight in him.

Hermione just raised her mug to her lips and drank the measure of firewhisky in it, "I forfeit," she coughed, as smoke plumed out of her mouth. Ron said nothing, just filed the information away to be examined later and refilled her mug. When she regained her composure, she seemed keen to change the subject.

"Did you sleep with Lavender after the gala?" she was trying to look casual, like she didn't care.

She shouldn't care, after all, the papers had detailed enough of his exploits with various celebrity witches for her to know he had hardly lived like a monk while they were apart. It didn't matter, so why did he feel the tips of his ears heating up as he swirled the amber liquid around in his cup.

"No," he looked at her directly in the eyes, so she knew he was telling the truth, how much he wanted it to be the whole truth, "I went back to her place but I passed out, I was too drunk. Ended up being sick on her bedside rug actually. Funnily enough she never pushed me for a second go. While we're on the subject of exes, as much as even thinking of the two of you together gives me the heebie jeebies, if it wasn't for this marriage law, do you think you'd have ended up with Malfoy?" his knuckles were taut white as he gripped the mug in his hands, the only belier to his calm countenance.

"End up with? As in married? No. Leaving aside any feelings we may or may not have had for each other, his parents would never have allowed it and he wouldn't have betrayed them."

"Leaving feeling aside! Ha! You know that was what I was asking about. I don't need you to tell me that those Death Eater scumbags wouldn't have welcomed you into the family with open arms."

Hermione reddened a little, "Draco's changed. He's, well he is just as much of an arse as when we were at school, but behind it he's kinder. I think the war scared all of that out of him. He doesn't believe any of those old prejudices any more. He actually treated me quite nicely."

"So that's a yes is it? Because he took you out to fancy restaurants" Ron attempted to strangle his anger back down but tendrils of it were sneaking out.

"Because he didn't humiliate me by snogging his ex-girlfriend in front of everyone we knew and the national media!" Hermione hissed, her fists clenched.

They stared each other down for a moment, both aware that they were about to break the key rule of the game – to not let it descend into an argument. To break the tension, Hermione asked Ron to describe his most embarrassing moment. Managing to get his temper fully back under control, he lounged back against the cushions, feeling himself relax again, "Well I've got to say that having to remind my bride that she needed to kiss me when we got married was quite high up there –"

"As was being sick on Lavender Brown's rug I imagine," Hermione giggled, unabashed at the fact that he had mentioned her hesitation at the wedding.

"Quite, but the most embarrassing moment in my life to date was…." he launched into a high spirited account, several minutes in the telling, that involved him leaping up to re-enact the more energetic parts, and leaving Hermione weak with laughter and having to wipe away tears of mirth.

After that, the next few questions they meandered through light hearted subjects, enjoying the easy banter and holding off more difficult subjects until later in the game. If Ron hadn't been counting on his fingers, he would have forgotten he only had two questions left, abruptly bringing the game back to more serious terms by countering Hermione's 'would you rather have the hiccups all day long or sneeze a hundred times a day?' with "What do you think of me?" he watched her over the rim of his mug as she took a sharp breath in, considering how to answer. She had vetoed a question earlier on and he knew she disliked doing it too often, feeling that it wasn't in the spirit of the game.

"That's a tough one to answer – everything gets all jumbled up in my head when I try and think of it – how much I loved you, how much I hated you. It all gets mixed up in it. I'm glad we're friends again and I'll never be able to tell you enough how glad I'm here with you rather than Greg Goyle. I think you're a good friend and a good person," she settled for eventually. She obviously decided to stick with the more serious theme, almost unable to meet this eye as she asked, "How much do you resent me for making you marry me?"

Ron decided it was easier to take the forfeit than even try to answer it but as he lowered his mug, feeling the whisky slip warmly down his throat, he saw the barely concealed upset on Hermione's face and realised he was doing more harm by not being honest, no matter what the cost to him, "Less every day. Sometimes I wonder if I oughtn't resent you a bit more. Be a bit more cross that I've ended up with you despite both of our best efforts. But already, like earlier, when you brought me that cup of tea, I forgot for a minute it wasn't real. So don't worry, I'm fine. Emotional range of a teaspoon remember."

Hermione sniffed a little and giggled, "So just keep making you cups of tea and we'll have a happy marriage?"

"That's the spirit!" he laughed, patting her on the leg. Now came the question he had wanted to ask, the one he had saved until the end when she had no chance of a follow up question, the moment where he asked her how she wanted this to end? If she could just wave her wand and make everything go her way, how would it be? Them not talking again, the law overturned and everything back the way it was? A pitying look to him and the consolation that they would be better off as friends? Or was there even the tiniest chance that her feelings might be softening? But now it was time, he didn't dare ask. Merlin, he didn't even know what he wanted the answer to be. Hating himself for being so cowardly, he tried to tell himself that things can't be unsaid and some questions are better with no answer, "I forfeit," he muttered angrily, tossing back the liquid in his mug.

Hermione's eyebrows quirked in surprise, "But...but it's your turn? Can you forfeit asking a question?"

"I'm tired, I'm going to bed," he shook his head as he got off the sofa and stalked off, wondering what exactly fate had brought them back together for. It was a long time before he was able to get to sleep.

oOoOoOo

The next morning Hermione actually shook Ron awake, "Gerroff," he mumbled, "This is supposed to be a holiday," and tried to roll away from her.

"It's snowed!" she exclaimed excitedly, seeming to enjoy the wince that so much enthusiasm so soon after waking up sent through him and bouncing up and down on the bed a little for good measure, her eyes wide with glee.

Ron rubbed a hand over his face and struggled to a seated position, which was made harder than it could have been by the impairment of Hermione sitting on his legs, "You know what you've done, don't you?" he growled, "You've only gone and woken up the Weasley family snowball fighting champion 1999-2002."

Hermione just laughed in response, jumping down from the bed and pulling on her hat and gloves as Ron hurriedly began adding layers of clothes over his pyjamas.

By the time he headed outside, a sizeable wedge of wedding cake in his hand in lieu of breakfast, Hermione had disappeared. He glanced around suspiciously and was just about to head back into the shelter of the veranda when the roof emptied its entire load of snow onto him. His hastily cast impervious did a poor job of protecting him and he still found himself clambering out of a waist high pile of snow as Hermione's giggle rang out from behind a large pine tree.

Ron pointed at the branches above her with his wand, causing snow to rain down on her. A high pitched squeal told her that he had found his target but his smugness was short lived as a tornado of white flakes came flying towards him. He managed to throw up a protego but that only resulted in him being encased in an igloo of snow that had impacted against the shield. He heard a muffled "immobilus" from outside and light flooded in as the snow turned to ice. Encased in a dome of ice, and finding himself wondering at the two-fold use of the freezing spell, he saw Hermione stalk out into the open, hands on hips, seemingly unable to resist seeing the effect she had created.

He waited until she was only a few feet away and sent the shattered pieces of the ice prison flying outwards by aiming a "fracto strata," at it. Hermione waved her wand over the shards shooting towards her, calling out "arresto momentum," and they slowed to almost a standstill, allowing her to walk round them, watching them curiously as they moved sluggishly forward.

Ron quickly balled up a few snowballs and bewitched them - as Fred and George had once to Quirrell – to repeatedly attack Hermione but after a few satisfying rebounds off her face and head, she reversed their aim so they turned on him, and added an engorgement charm for good measure.

He was lying on the ground, laughing helplessly as the snowballs pounded him before he thought to obliterate them, and then, exhausted, he settled for making the fat white snowflakes that he was so adept at producing, issue from his wand and float down over the pair of them. Hermione threw herself down next to him in the snowdrift, exhaling steamy breaths of mirth. Her nose was pink and there were snowflakes on her eyelashes and fringe. Ron's fingers were extending to brush them gently away before he remembered that he wasn't entitled to touch her like that anymore and clenched his fist back up tightly. He couldn't stop looking at those tiny crystals adorning her dark lashes, and Hermione stared right back at him, a tiny smile playing over her lips. He was just wondering how hard she would slap him if he edged closer to her, close enough to count those sparkling crystalline drops, and whether it would be worth it when the creeping frigid fingers of icy wetness from the snow beneath him caused him to shudder involuntarily.

"Freezing isn't it," Hermione held her fingers to her mouth to blow warmth onto them.

Ron was just reaching for his wand to dry off their clothes when Hermione stayed his arm with her hand, "Muggle magic," she intoned knowingly, before conceding with a blush, "Well, almost."

She waved her wand towards a small clearing nearby and Ron experienced the same ripple in the atmosphere as when she had revealed the cottage. Where there had been little more than a handful of stunted, frostbitten saplings, there was a large, circular wooden tub. Another wave of her wand caused steam to rise out of the tub, giving Ron more of a clue of its contents. He approached it cautiously, not sure of what exactly it might do but keen to find out.

"What. Is. That?" he asked in wonderment, only his auror training making him resist the urge to reach out and touch the strange object.

"See, this is why I didn't show you before, I wouldn't have been able to get you out of it, and I didn't want to take you back to your mum as a prune," Hermione tried to sound stern but she knew the beam on her face was giving her away, "it's called a hot tub."

"What do you do with it? Swim in it?" Ron asked sceptically. Muggles had some funny ideas but he was sure even they wouldn't swim round and round in such a tiny pool. Hermione had taken him to a muggle swimming bath once and it hadn't looked anything like this.

"Just sit in it. Like a bath – it's relaxing."

"As long as it's warm, I'm game," Ron agreed, his teeth chattering slightly as he followed Hermione's lead in stripping off her icily sodden outer layers. When they were just in their underwear, they both scrambled in, exhaling twin sighs of relief as the warm water began to thaw the chill in their extremities.

Ron was just starting to relax so much that he was in very real danger of slipping under the water altogether when a clinking of glass made him jump snorting awake. Hermione shrugged unapologetically as she poured herself a glass of champagne left over from the wedding. Ron rolled his eyes and she made a show of sighing before summoning a second glass for him.

"You were asleep!" she laughed in explanation.

"I was not."

"You were snoring," she insisted, handing him the glass. His water warmed fingers brushed over hers as he took it from her.

They sipped the creamy champagne in silence, enjoying the peace of nature. It wasn't until the drink was long gone and Hermione had sent the glasses sailing back into the kitchen that Ron heard her breathing audibly – he had been so focussed on the shafts of sunlight shining through the snow weighted branches that he had stopped noticing the passing of time. He looked over to see her head tipped back, her mouth slackly open and, with a grin, tugged hard on her foot which was floating just below the surface. She disappeared under the water for a second and with a yowl that would have rivalled Crookshanks had he been similarly dunked, immediately re-emerged.

"You were asleep," sniggered Ron, echoing her words back to her, seeing only a second too late the light of revenge in her eyes.

She jumped on him, splashing with one hand and trying to push his head under the water with the other. Laughing so hard that the water deluging his face was nearly choking him, Ron grabbed both of her wrists and held them over her head with one of his big hands. His laughter died away and she stopped struggling as they both became aware of her thighs wrapped around him, the swell of her breasts pressed up against the smooth muscular planes of his chest. He reached up with his other hand to wipe the dripping tendrils of hair from her face, scarcely daring to breathe as her eyes flickered to his lips, then back up to meet his own in silent invitation. Slowly, with infinite tenderness he inclined his head down to hers and kissed her. He let go of her hands and she tangled them into his hair, deepening the embrace.

Hermione pulled away and for a heart-stopping moment, Ron thought she was going to slap him, but she merely vanished away their underwear with a coy smile. She ground down on him, bringing him to full hardness almost instantly. The cold air to her nipples made them pucker irresistibly, leaving Ron powerless to stop himself from rolling the pebbled nubs between finger and thumb and was rewarded by her arching her back, allowing him to cup her breasts more fully as she sighed breathily. Hermione's arms tightened around his neck as she kissed him again, her tongue massaging his gently as the water allowed his hands to slide deliciously over her skin. Just when he thought his gentlemanly restraint might give out, she sank onto him, the heat of her even warmer than the water, and he took a sharp intake of breath as he thanked Merlin and any and all gods for the feeling of her surrounding his cock.

Ron gripped her hips, his hands slipping over her water-slicked skin before he grasped her firmly, allowing him to lift her up, before pulling her back onto him to match his thrusts. She tipped her head back in pleasure, biting her lip and that pull of skin between her white teeth almost sent him over the edge. His eyes feasted on the sight of her breasts bouncing clear of the water, glistening rivulets running down into the hollow between them.

Their pace quickened - her face was flushed and she was letting out little moany gasps each time his length fully entered her. As he felt the delightful pressure building, he slammed her harder, her skin slapping against his until the tight coil of pleasure that had wound up inside him snapped, and his orgasm pulsed out of him and into her. He tilted his head back, his eyes closed and let out a deep sigh. Somewhere below the floaty, sated bonelessness, he registered a note of relief that they weren't broken somehow – they could do this. As he softened and slipped out of her, she kissed him tenderly on the lips, smiling as he reciprocated, dropping a sweet kiss onto her forehead. She closed her eyes for a long moment and he pulled her in for a tight hug, which she made no move to resist. Only when the chill of the frozen night started to make Hermione shiver, despite the warmth of the pool, did they break apart and apparate inside. A hastily applied drying spell was the only thing they managed before they stumbled into bed and fell fast asleep.

oOoOoOo

Ron shifted his head on the pillow, seeing the bright sunlight shine red through his eyelids. Bugger, he must have slept in. He rubbed his gritty eyes with the back of one fist and stretched his other arm across the bed. Empty. And cold. Hermione was gone. Of course it was idiotic of him to even have a half asleep hope that she would just lie there and watch him sleeping –as though she was one of those girls he had dated before. He forced his eyes open and sat up slowly. She was nowhere to be seen. Bloody hell, had she run away? It hadn't been that bad last night had it? As much as he knew she would rather share a bed with, well almost anyone than him, they'd been getting on better recently. And he thought that last night they had almost had…what? A connection? He almost laughed aloud at his foolishness. Thank Merlin his brothers weren't here to see him going gooey over a girl after one shag.

He climbed achingly out of bed, stretching his cramped limbs – gods that girl was a bed hogger – and pulled on his dressing gown while he looked around the cabin for evidence of where she was. The cotton bag was still on the floor, which somehow reassured him. He knew that there were some things that would never leave him from their time away in the seventh year. Like his nervous habit of patting his pocket every few minutes to check he hadn't lost the deluminator (even after all these years he called it the deluminator rather than his deluminator). Or the way that in the moment before he was about to lose his temper, really lose it - like foaming at the mouth, seeing red, not just shouting lose it – he was able to pull himself back. Not much, just an inch or two. But that was enough to stop him doing something too stupid, most of the time, at least. There were still a few noteable failures. But he was better. He tried to be better. And he knew Hermione was the same. About her habits, not her temper. She would have had to have been dragged kicking and screaming from that cabin before she would have left that bag behind.

Seeing that the door was ajar he stepped outside, hissing in shock at the icy ground under his bed-warmed bare feet. There was Hermione, on the swing chair on the veranda, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hands wrapped round a steaming mug of tea. As she heard him approach, she turned to look at him, smiling brightly. Even to his eyes it looked brittle, like her face might crumble away if he touched it. His step faltered slightly.

"The snow's melted," Hermione started brightly, "I thought we might go home today. I've packed everything up while you were asleep so we can set off as soon as you're ready."

"Today? Like now?"

Hermione nodded quickly in response, taking another sip of her tea.

Ron's brows knitted together in concern and he reached an arm out towards her but just left it hanging stupidly in mid-air for a few seconds before dropping it back to his side, "Is everything….are you ok Hermione?"

"Fine," she was so bloody chipper that he could tell instantly that there was no point in pushing her. Not fine then. Had he done something wrong? Or was it just him? Was the thought of him still so repulsive to her? He nodded his head slightly and headed inside to get dressed.


	18. Chapter 18

**Hi sorry it's been so long - real life got in the way for a bit. Anyway, here's the latest chapter. I probably need to give trigger warnings for medical procedures.**

 **Thanks thanks thanks to kabg01 who has been nudging me along to get on with this chapter already - I would definitely still be procrastinating instead of posting if it hadn't been for her.**

 **Disclaimer - not mine.**

* * *

They packed up the cabin quickly and in silence, Hermione making sure she added extra protective spells to the place before she once again concealed it. She tried not to notice Ron's look of longing as it vanished away – it had been an escape from reality to go there but they had to return to the real world now. Instead of wanting to linger, Hermione felt like she couldn't get away quick enough – away from the questions that she could practically feel Ron holding back from asking; away from his hand on her shoulder in concern – and back to her own space and solitude. She hadn't spent so long alone with only one other human being for company since her and Ron had been an item. It was making her feelings muddled, like paint bleeding across a wet page to blur colours together. Then and now was curling dizzyingly together and she needed to get home and away from Ron to separate out her past emotions from their current situation before she began to lose her tight grasp on the love she had locked so tightly away. They apparated together and Hermione felt an almost tangible relief when their feet hit the familiar ground on the hill overlooking Ottery St Catchpole.

They entered the Burrow to the muted sounds of conversation. Hermione looked down, brow furrowed, at the luggage by the door. A feeling of foreboding settlled over her like a mantle. Someone arriving, or someone leaving, she wondered to herself. Ron, oblivious as usual, dumped their bags down next to the strange ones, calling out, "Is anybody there?"

"We're in here love" called out Molly from the sitting room, her voice quavering with emotion. Ron gave Hermione a sideways glance before they followed his mother's voice.

Ron's parents were both there, along with Harry and Ginny and George and Angelina, all seated in the assortment of mismatched, threadbare armchairs that graced the room. Hermione's eyes darted questioningly to Harry and he - interpreting her concern – nodded his head towards George.

Ron finally seemed to pick up on the fact that something was going on, "Everything alright?" he sounded uncertain as he looked from face to face.

George stood and clapped his hand on his shoulder, "Angelina and I have decided to go away for a bit – a change of scene before the kids need to go to school. You know, see the world and what have you."

"What?" Ron scowled, "And if we hadn't come home now, would you have just gone without telling me?"

"Of course not!" George laughed. Hermione cringed, knowing this was only likely to make Ron angry all the quicker. She was immediately proved right when she saw the colour start to rise up the back of his neck, in line with the volume of his voice.

"Your bloody bags are in the hall!"

"You're the one who's been saying we need to keep a closer eye on the New York store. And we can Floo call every day. It might have escaped your notice but we can actually do magic. I can just pop to the International apparition point and be back in the shop in five minutes," George explained.

"It's not the same!" Ron shook George's hand off his shoulder petulantly.

Hermione, feeling like she didn't want to be witness to Ron losing his temper, slipped outside to sit on the back step and pulled her book out of her pocket. She was yearning for home but she felt it would be too rude to just slink away without telling anyone. She heard Ron's voice muffled through the door shouting 'we're supposed to be partners', and threw up a silencing charm behind her.

She'd barely reached the end of the next chapter, with the chilly dampness of the step only just starting to sink into her jeans when George scrambled down to sit beside her, ruffling her hair with the palm of his hand as he did so.

"Don't worry, it's all over in there now, Ronnie's just sulking quietly. I'm going to miss you, little sister. I feel like I need a lot longer to play pranks on you before you settle into being a Weasley too much."

"What about all those pranks you've played on me for the last fourteen years?" Hermione laughed, folding her book away and stowing it back into her pocket, memories of exploding telescopes and enchanted mistletoe flashing through her mind as she did so.

George shrugged, "They were just a warm up! Also I wanted to talk to you because I feel like I need to apologise to you and now I'm going away I can't put it off any longer," he twisted the hem of his sleeve over his fingers, concentrating on twisting the lumpy wool instead of meeting her eye. In the corner of the garden, Hermione watched a gnome creeping out from under the cover of a bush and make for the vegetable patch, rubbing its knobbly hands in glee.

"You've got nothing you need to apologise for," she said softly, patting George on the knee.

"I broke you and Ron up. If it wasn't for me, doing what I did, and trust me I know now how stupid that was, then you two would have never fallen out," his words were uncharacteristically forced, as he choked on regret that made Hermione's heart ache.

"George, while we were away, we had a chance to – "

"Do I want to hear this?" he held his hands up over his ears and grinned at her. Sorry or not, he was George Weasley and he be damned if he missed as easy a set up as that. .

" - Talk!" Hermione finished with mock indignation, "It made me realise that it wasn't really ever about him wanting to go and work in the joke shop. It was about his need to make his own life and he couldn't do that with me and Harry so close. And….and it was about the fact that sometimes I have difficulty in realising I can be wrong sometimes. Our relationship was wonderful but it wasn't always healthy – Ron, Harry and me were all still so dependent on each other. If it hadn't been for you, Ron would never have become what he is today."

"Percy's rival for the humungous bighead award?" George sniggered, "Did you know he started to keep a scrapbook when he started appearing in the paper on his own?"

Hermione gave a gasp of amusement, "No! What happened to it?"

"I redecorated the shop with enlarged cuttings of him and he threw it away. I may have charmed the cuttings to talk as well." George admitted with a sly grin before his face turned serious once more, "You will look after him won't you? Even an idiot can see he's falling for you harder than Harry off a broom when the dementors are nearby, even if he can't see it himself."

Hermione thought it was probably just George's guilt talking – that he wanted to believe that they would be able to get back together, to paper over the cracks and pick up where they left off because then he hadn't done any damage, that his moment of weakness didn't have any consequences.

"Does Angelina know about…you know? Your potions experiment?" Hermione asked in a low voice, checking over her shoulder that no one was within earshot.

George nodded, "We didn't stay in touch after the war. But after my "potions experiment," I decided I needed to talk to someone about Freddie and I sent her an owl. We ended up getting really drunk and I was totally honest with her. She told me if I try any stunts like that again, she'll kill me."

Ginny slipped outside "George, mum's complaining that she might never see you again and you're spending your last day with Hermione hiding outside. George rolled his eyes in the dramatic fashion that he always did when his mother overreacted and bounced up and through the door.

Hermione went to follow him but Ginny grabbed her by the arm in her patented 'time for you to spill the gossip' grip. "So?" she asked expectantly.

"Oh come on Ginny, I didn't ask you any of the details from your honeymoon." Hermione sighed in frustration, wanting desperately to avoid talking about what had happened between her and Ron in the cabin. How they had fallen asleep entwined in each others arms.

"I'll tell you if you like. There was this one day we didn't even leave the hotel room. We – "

"Stop stop!" Hermione covered up her ears and scrunched up her eyes to avoid hearing any of the details Ginny was about to tell her. During the early days of Harry and Ginny dating after the war, Hermione had been forced to call a moratorium on Ginny telling her anything that happened between the two of them behind closed doors. Knowing she had to give her red headed sister-in-law some kind of explanation, she wondered how few words she could use without being quizzed further, "We did it. It was fine."

"Fine?" Ginny challenged, crossing her arms.

"As much as you and Harry want this to be some kind of fairy story, this is real life and fine is better than I could have ended up with," Hermione huffed. She wasn't entirely honest with Ginny – didn't tell her that some bits were better than fine and some bits were worse. She didn't know what words to use to describe the way that her and Ron had fitted together like two puzzle pieces and for a moment, the past couple of years slipped away and she felt just like they always had, from that day at the Yule Ball when Viktor kissed her and all she could think was, 'why couldn't it have been you?' every time she looked at Ron. She thought that Ginny could do without knowing how much that terrified her and how she rejected the feelings when she woke up and saw his face relaxed with sleep so close to hers – just shut them down and pushed Ron away, even when the hurt look in his eyes made her heart clench. The body releases hormones after sex that made you feel like that. The same hormones could be replicated in a lab. It was just a trick of chemistry, of biology. And it wasn't going to happen again.

Hermione stood up and dusted off her jeans, "I might just go home – I'm pretty tired and this is a family party."

"Hang on a minute," Hermione thought that Ginny was going to argue that she was family and was preparing her case for why she really really just wanted to go home, have some peace and see Crookshanks, who had been most put out by her popping home for five minutes a day to feed him and top up his water bowl for the last few days; when Ginny nipped inside the house, only to return with a sheaf of envelopes, "These came for you when you were away. Don't worry, I can see from your face you're cream crackered, I won't ask you to stay."

Hermione smiled gratefully, and was just peeling back the seal on one of them when Ron appeared in the doorway, looking a little pale and carrying his own armful of parchments.

"They've made us an appointment to go to St Mungo's" Hermione read aloud, seeing Ron swallow deeply and nod in confirmation, "For testing."

"Doesn't sound pleasant, does it?"

"Nothing about this whole mess is!" Hermione spat and, ignoring his wounded expression, apparated away.

oOoOoOo

Two weeks later, they met outside the derelict department store that served as the public entrance to St Mungo's. As Hermione approached, she saw Ron lounging against a lamp post, his hands in his pockets. Despite his relaxed posturing, his face was troubled. She told herself sternly that it was nerves about the tests and nothing else that made her stomach flip over as she caught sight of him through the crowds.

"I wondered if you wouldn't come," he said without preamble or humour.

"Best to get this over with," Hermione was aware that she was using the same brisk tones that she had been using with Ron ever since they had left the cabin but she thought it was best to maintain clear boundaries between the two of them, "Otherwise, they might make it worse for us"

His hand touched the small of her back as she leaned in close to the dummy which looked more grotesque than ever, since one of its arms had worked loose and was dangling limply within the faded green nylon dress.

"Hermione Granger…Granger-Weasley, and Ronald Weasley – we have an appointment," Hermione whispered, suppressing the shiver that the unexpected contact had sent up her spine but his hand was gone before she could be sure that she hadn't imagined it. The glass melted away and they stepped into the bustling reception area. Hermione nearly tripped over the beard of a panicked looking wizard whose facial hair seemed to be growing at an inordinate rate – even as she watched, she saw new tufts sprout from the end of his nose and begin their progress to join the rapidly developing pile on the floor – before she joined Ron in the queue behind a witch covered in nasty looking purple pustules.

Once they reached the desk, Ron handed over the appointment letter to the bored looking witch on reception.

Right, you're floor six room 614 and you" she pointed at Hermione with a brightly polished fingernail, "You're in room 618, right at the end of the corridor."

Upon hearing they were in separate rooms, Hermione immediately thought of interrogations, cross checking their stories to make sure they were telling the truth. Ron's anxious glance in her direction confirmed that the same concerns were running through his head. As they got into the lift they were joined by a plump witch whose nose seemed to have turned into a teapot. The tiny wizard with her was carrying a bucket and having to keep vanishing away the tea that was spouting from her face until they exited at the fourth floor.

The lift continued its ascent until a cool female voice announced "Sixth floor - maternity ward, reproductive health and paediatrics."

As they stepped out into the corridor, which was painted in soft lilac shades, with delicate pictures of flowers rather than the usual wizarding portraits, Hermione was almost surprised that the often backward Wizarding medical community had felt the need for such a muggle form of medicine.

That benevolent feeling lasted only until she reached room 618, and with a desperate backward glance to Ron, who also seemed reluctant to go through the door of his room, she twisted the brass door handle and went in. In the centre of the room was a padded, tilted bed with stirrups jutting up from it. Hermione backed up against the door until it closed behind her with a soft click.

A healer, no older than her looked up from her notes and smiled apologetically. She did say her name but Hermione could barely hear it over the buzzing in her ears as she focussed on the device of torture in front of her. It wasn't until she felt the gentle touch of the healer's hand on her shoulder that she realised she had zoned out.

"It's not as bad as it looks."

"Really?" Hermione asked wryly, cringing down to the tips of her toes as she saw the healer slipping a long plastic sheath over the length of her wand.

"Well…" the healer smiled in apology, "It's not great but it's over quickly at least. It's a bit like one of your muggle smear tests."

Hermione attempted to mentally list every potion ingredient she knew in alphabetic order as she undressed from the waist down. As she placed her feet in the stirrups, she recalled the exact hand movements to some of the more complicated spells for human transfiguration. As the healer inserted a cold metal speculum into her and tears leaked out of the corners of her tightly closed eyes, she catalogued all twelve uses for dragon's blood and attempted to think of more. But when the healer apologised that this might sting a bit and poked deeply up to her cervix, her mind was a blank, other than a fiery rage that made the light fittings rattle and her fingertips spark with the magic that would have surely incinerated Umbridge had she been there in that moment. After that, the healer pressed the tip of her wand into her lower belly, dragging it over her skin as a fuzzy image of Hermione's organs was projected onto a screen but she was flying on a wave of incandescence and barely noticed that part. Eventually she was allowed to dress again and was led into a warm, softly lit waiting room to recover. The healer brought her a cup of tea before withdrawing silently from the room.

Once her heart rate slowed and the sparkling points of anger faded from her vision, she repeated to herself in a shaking undertone, her resolve to get the law that had put her in that position destroyed, and with any luck, the people who had brought it about too. By the time she had drunk her cup of tea, she was telling herself that she had survived true torture, won wars, and that a simple medical procedure wasn't going to upset her, with enough conviction that she almost believed it.

She picked up a pamphlet about the need to vaccinate newborns against dragon pox and started flicking through it idly to pass the time. When the increasingly frequent glances at her watch told her that she had been waiting over half an hour she began to get increasingly worried about Ron and as footsteps sounded in the corridor she resolved herself to ask whoever it was for help but just as she stood up, Ron entered the room. His face was pale and had a pasty sheen of sweat and his eyes were wide with disbelief. His hair stood up at the back and his shirt was half hanging out of his trousers. He stumbled into a seat, his knuckles white on the arm rest as he sank into it.

"What did they do to you? Are you alright?" Hermione gasped, looking frantically out into the corridor in case he was seriously ill and she needed to raise the alarm.

He gripped her hand tightly and whispered in a hoarse voice, "They made me put my tackle on a metal tray and the healer waved a wand over it and your face appeared on a screen. Then they stuck a swab right up the end of my..." he trailed off, turning a delicate shade of green, "Then I had to give a sample. You know - a sample. That was why I was so long. You try whacking one off in a room that looks like my auntie Muriel's sitting room with only a four year old copy of Play Witch for company."

"Oh that must have been awful, getting your rocks off to out of date porn," Hermione knew she sounded unsympathetic but she couldn't bring herself to moderate her tone, "Meanwhile, I've had a healer's wand shoved so far up me that I was worried she was going to charm my tonsils off."

"Ahem," their attention was drawn to an elderly lady standing in the doorway. She reminded Hermione of the shrunken head that always used to hang from the rear view mirror of the Knight bus, so wizened was her olive coloured skin. Unlike the other healers, her robes were covered in a busy pattern every colour of the rainbow and she wore a matching turban with a peacock feather pinned to the front with an ornate jewelled brooch.

"I'm Calla Madgwick," she croaked in an American accent, holding out hands weighed down with rings and bangles, as though offering benediction, "Head of the reproductive healing department. Don't worry, the worst's over with now – I honestly could hex that vile bitch Umbridge for booking you in for those tests. Just come down the way to my office for a chat, then you can be on your way."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and shuffled away down the corridor, followed by Hermione and Ron.

Her office was as colourful as she was, with squashy arm chairs and a parrot on a perch behind her desk. She seemed to have replaced the medical screens round the bed with silk scarves and her window was charmed to show bright sunshine beaming through. She flipped through the paperwork on her desk for so long that Hermione was wondering if she had forgotten they were there. However, her eyes, bright as berries, eventually lifted from the scribbled notes in front of her.

"The good news, if you can call it that, is that I will be able to report to the Ministry that you consummated your marriage. Honestly, I've not had to order one of those tests for about fifty years. What that little snot Umbridge thinks she's playing at is anyone's guess. Still, her and that slimy boss of hers have managed to persuade the Minister for Health that a hefty part of our funding be tied to this pet project of theirs, so here we are."

"We could have just told you we'd done it, you didn't need to do all that funny business," growled Ron, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. Hermione remembered the swab they had done on him and bit back a smirk.

"It wasn't a complete waste of time. The tests also show that you are both fertile and healthy."

A tiny weight that Hermione hadn't even realised she had been carrying until that moment, fell away. So the prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus hadn't done any harm. She had heard of cases where women had gone on to have problems in that department, or worse.

"Now I don't want to be teaching a dragon how to breathe fire so stop me if you know this but I'm happy to explain. Do you two need to know how to make a baby?"

"No!" they both all but shouted, in perfect unison, united in their thought that to hear this desiccated husk of a woman give them the birds and the bees talk would be cringeworthy in the extreme.

"Fair enough. You're muggleborn anyway, aren't you child? Those muggles generally make a decent hash of explaining it" She directed her beady eyes to Hermione, "You wouldn't believe what some of those pureblood old families think. No offence dearie," she reached over the desk and patted Ron's hand in a conciliatory manner.

"I know how to," Ron retorted sullenly.

"Course you do." She nodded indulgently in a way that didn't seem to make him any happier, "Well everything's fine with you both physically, which is the main thing. Hermione, I'm going to prescribe you some vitamins – I'll have an owl deliver them to you by the end of the week. Nothing to worry about, just some pre-natals."

Hermione nodded and swallowed the lump that had just grown in her throat as the word 'pre-natal' rolling a hollow knell around her head.

"Now off you go," the healer waved her hands to shoo them away, her brightly coloured sleeves flapping wildly, "Go and just do what newlyweds do and I'll see you in a month."

* * *

For those of you missing a certain Mr Malfoy...look out for the next chapter!


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you to everyone who has left such lovely reviews, sorry I didn't get round to responding to them for the last chapter. Thanks also to everyone who is reading along.**

 **Also thanks to my beta, suggester** **of excellent lines and the person who has to listen to me moaning about someone reading 18 chapters of a fic just so they leave a fully comprehensive bad review - kabg01.**

* * *

"I've got a present for you," Hermione beamed widely, too excited to say hello as Draco slid onto the bench beside her. Draco looked nervously ashamed and with a shock like a thunderclap, she realised that she hadn't actually seen him since he had turned up drunk at her house. He had owled her to apologise and although their conversation had been stilted at first, they had managed to establish a correspondence. They had agreed that there was little point in attempting to brew the Dragora potion again unless they found further information, and had agreed to both research the subject. Hermione had dashed off a letter to the only person she knew that might be able to help them, and had thought little more of it, until a parcel had arrived for her that morning at work, carried by two magnificent tawny owls. Without thinking, she had asked Draco to meet her at the Leaky Cauldron as soon as he could, and she had been cooling her heels ever since. She'd even lied to Amos Diggory that she had a meeting with an aggrieved goblin at Gringotts to explain her absence from the office.

"You look well," he said softly, brushing his fingertips over her cheek. It gave Hermione an aching feeling in her throat that made her have to force her voice to remain steady.

"Hmm, well you look better than last time I saw you at least."

Hannah Abbott came over to the table with two butterbeers that she insisted were on the house for any friend of Neville's, before bustling off to pick up empty tankards and wipe tables.

"She's going to run this place into the ground, doing business like that," Draco grumbled after her retreating form. Hermione suppressed a smile at his transparency as he fished a couple of galleons out of his pocket and slid them onto the table. So much easier to throw money at a problem than admit he'd never been a very good friend to Neville. Even worse to acknowledge that Hannah knew that full well and was still giving him a free drink.

"I wasn't myself last time I saw you," Draco didn't meet her eye, concentrating on brushing a miniscule fleck of dirt from the blackness of his sleeve, "I suspect Goyle may have slipped something into my drink."

"Yeah – more booze," Hermione snorted, but not unkindly. Draco had behaved terribly to her and she had been furious, hurt, disappointed, humiliated. A kaleidoscope of pain and betrayal. But whether it was time passing, or her confusing feelings about the man she was struggling to think of as her husband; that pain had shrunk to a small point, her emotions on the subject diminished. Rather than making her heart grow fonder, the absence between them had made her feelings for Draco…flatter. Less dangerous. A spark damped down under grey ash.

Draco nodded in concession, "Well, whatever the reason, I could have behaved…better. Some of the things I said…" he affected a laugh, although it didn't reach his eyes, "The idea of you and me, eloping together like some common muggles!"

"Molly and Arthur Weasley eloped – Molly told me," She was defending her parents in law before she even felt the sting from the thorns he had laced his words with to try and stop her probing closely.

Draco rolled his eyes as though to indicate that she was proving his point.

Hermione reached over and laid her hand on top of his, "Anyway, as much as I'm enjoying waiting to see whether you insult everyone I know before you get round to actually saying sorry, that wasn't why I wanted to see you."

"Phew, because contrition really doesn't suit me," Draco sat back in his seat, looking relieved, before reaching across and squeezing the tips of her fingers really tightly, just for a second, "I am though, you know," he added, almost too quietly for Hermione to hear. They both took long sips from their frosty bottles of butterbeer, rewarding themselves with the cool slide of sweet foam down their throats to mark their navigation through that difficult conversation.

"I've got a present for you!" Hermione repeated, as she placed the bottle down onto the table, watching beads of condensation roll down the side of the glass.

"Go on then Weasley….ugh no, can't do it. You'll always be Granger to me. What have you got me? I'm going to go ahead and assume it's that new Lightspeed Mark 2 broom that's in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies," he made a show of looking around for a broomstick shaped parcel.

"Better," she assured him, having to sit on her hands to stop herself vibrating out of the seat.

"No!" he clapped his hands to his face in mock surprise, "You didn't go for the platinum coating upgrade? Apparently, it reduces drag by up to twenty-eight percent!"

"Twenty-eight! That much?" she giggled. A weight that she hadn't realised she was carrying slipped from her chest as they slipped into easy banter, "Still better."

He leaned in and nudged her with his elbow, "You're going to model it for me?"

"It's some of Snape's notes from his personal records!" she squeaked, unable to contain herself any more. Draco deflated almost comically before her eyes.

"Did you keep the receipt?" he drawled, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Just look at them, you idiot," Hermione opened a dragonhide wallet and produced a sheaf of yellowed parchment. She handed them over to Draco, her heart giving a painful clench as she saw the familiar cramped handwriting, densely packed onto the page as though not to waste even an inch of the paper. Although she had disliked Snape when he was alive, she respected him as a scholar above almost all others, and after Harry had told her he had seen in Snape's memories, her feelings had softened considerably.

Draco rifled through the papers before his eyes widened and his face lit up in a wide smile, "Oh you are a genius. If I wasn't worried about catching poor, I'd kiss you!"

Hermione's foot twitched with the desire to kick him under the table as she would Harry, or Ron, once, "Mcgonagall sent them to me."

Draco's lips thinned, and he slid the bottle of butterbeer a few centimetres away from himself, "It must be nice being one of the golden trio – everyone falling over themselves to help you, give you free drinks."

"Are you serious? Draco Malfoy – poster boy for pureblood privilege, complaining about it being a bit unfair that I get a few favours here and there. Perhaps if you were a bit less rude to people and not such a bloody snob, you might find people help you out more often. Catch poor indeed, I should hex you into next week just for that."

"Sorry, sorry", he muttered, rubbing his arm unconsciously, "I had a falling out with my potion ingredients supplier. Some rumours have reached his ears, apparently. He said my filthy galleons weren't welcome, even if I paid ten times the price. Seems that someone offed his daughter during the war. It all seems to be getting stirred up again, have you noticed?"

"It's the marriage law," Hermione sighed, taking another sip from her bottle. She glanced around the crowded pub and noticed an elderly witch glaring with open hostility at Draco, as if to prove his point.

Draco nodded slowly, his gaze distant, as he mulled over what she had said, "You might be right. They dress these women up in finery and parade them around and nobody laughs at them or anything, nobody is cruel. Their husbands seem to treat them like queens…"

"But –" Hermione urged him on.

"It's the way they look at them….It makes me uneasy." He rubbed his forearm again.

"Harry said that he thinks dark forces might be rising again"

Draco huffed gently, a bitter smile on his lips, "Well no one's invited me - my family are traitors don't forget. They let mother and I tag along to parties because of our blood and our money but they don't trust us."

Hermione moved the butterbeer bottle back towards him, "So what are you going to do about your potion supplier? I can get things for you if you need them, owl them to you?"

"No no, it's fine, there's a shop in Knockturn Alley that I can go to. Judging by some of the ingredients on this list," his eyes scanned the fragile parchment, "My regular supplier might not have been able to help me anyway."

"Well let me know if there's anything I can do but I've got to get back to work – I sneaked out to meet you."

As she buttoned up her travelling cloak, a red headed man entered the pub. Her heart skittered and jumped in her chest as she did a double take but the man was just a stranger. Not that she was doing anything wrong meeting Draco in a public place, in the middle of the day. She just didn't really want Ron to know about it. He'd take it the wrong way - she knew he would. She was just saving them both from an unnecessary argument.

"Granger! Am I being a bad influence on you?" Draco affected surprise, a smirk playing over his lips

Hermione gave him a scathing look over her shoulder as she swept from the booth, "Please, I've been sneaking about since I was eleven. Oh and Malfoy? It's Granger-Weasley."

Hermione had spent most of the afternoon being quite pleased with herself until she remembered that her and Ron had their healer's appointment at St Mungo's that evening. They had only seen each other once since the last appointment and it had been….stressful, to say the least. In the end she'd had to rush to the appointment and entered the healer's office, her robes ruffled, to see Ron already waiting for her.

The elderly witch shuffled the papers on her desk as Hermione sat down before fixing her with a long stare. Even the parrot, which normally seemed to chatter away happily to itself was silent and seemed to be eyeing her with hostility.

"Thank you for finding the time to join us."

Hermione couldn't be sure, as her face heated up, but she thought she heard Ron snigger softly next to her. She looked down to try and establish whether his foot was near enough to stamp on under the table.

Healer Madgwick steepled her wrinkled hands, "As I was explaining to your husband, I'll first perform a diagnostic spell on you, and then we'll discuss the results."

The medi-witch bade Hermione to lie on the bed behind the small screen made of silk scarves and explained the procedure to her, before scanning her wand slowly over her stomach. Hermione could smell the sweet floral fragrance wafting from the witch's robes – bright orange beaded silk today, and tried not to smile too widely when the tip of the her wand glowed a fiery red.

She hopped down off the bed, her face a mask of smug satisfaction, and was back in her chair before the older witch had finished commiserating her for the negative pregnancy result.

"It's likely nothing to worry about, most people don't get pregnant on their first try."

"When you say "try"…" Ron trailed off, the tips of his ears blazing as he glanced at Hermione. Hermione's foot inched closer to his as she shot him a furious glare in return. Did the man really have no idea when to keep his mouth shut?

Healer Madgwick leaned in closer, affecting a sympathetic expression, "Have you been having difficulties, Mr Weasley?" Hermione saw her wand twitch and a pamphlet entitled 'Erectile dysfunction – when your wand won't behave', and rolled her eyes.

"What Ron's trying to say is that it would be impossible for me to be pregnant," she admitted, Gritting her teeth in frustration.

The healer's eyebrows almost disappeared into her grey, frazzled hair, "Have you been having regular intercourse?"

"No, you didn't tell us to. Were we supposed to?" Hermione's voice was even and sweet, innocence painted thickly across her face but she sat up slightly straighter.

The healer looked confused, as she flicked rapidly through her notes "I'm quite sure I would have…"

"You said to "do what newlyweds do". They were your exact words. If you'd like to fetch a pensieve, I could show you," Hermione could practically hear Snape's voice in her ear, dripping poison, calling her a pedant, a know it all swot. She had even made the air quotes with her fingers.

Healer Madgwick's voice was dangerously calm, a shark swimming through untroubled waters, "Well, what did you think I meant?"

"We went to Ikea. And had an argument." Hermione sat back in the chair, her arms folded in satisfaction.

Unable to hold himself back any longer, and seeming to have quite forgotten the purpose of their appointment, Ron turned to her accusatorially, "So did that sideboard fit?"

"Yes," she stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him as she felt heat spread up the back of her neck.

"Without a shrinking spell?" he demanded.

"That's hardly relevant!"

The healer cleared her throat and all evidence of the twinkly-eyed grandmotherly figure was gone. She cleared her throat and shook back her sleeves "Four of my staff called in sick today, I'm facing budget cuts that would make your eyes water, and there's a witch in the next room who seems to think I am going to just magic her baby out of her, despite the fact that she's 9cm dilated and in full blown labour. Now did either of you happen to read my name plate on the way in?"

"Calla Madgwick, Reproductive Head Healer," Hermione recited stiffly as Ron craned his neck to try and read it.

"Right," her croaky voice was raised, "Not marriage Councillor. Not flat pack furniture assembly assistant, or Jackass, as you seem to think. Now let me make myself clear – in order to comply with the law and prevent me reporting you to the Ministry, you need to be having regular intercourse."

"Define regular," Hermione asked, in a tone that she reserved for asking Umbridge questions about defence against the dark arts, or when someone at work infuriated her well past her last nerve snapping, "Because science, proper muggle science, none of this wizarding shit says that an egg lasts up to 24 hours after ovulation, whereas sperm can live up to five days. So one might call weekly intercourse regular if one was wishing to stand a fighting chance of getting pregnant. However some people might see an annual shag as regular. I'm guessing you don't just want me to treat Ron on his birthday and at Chrismas? How often should my husband and I fuck? Please tell me because it's absolutely everyone else's business!"

As she spat out the words, she heard a popping sound that she only vaguely registered as the glass jars on a shelf at the other side of the office smashing in time with her words. With the greatest of efforts, she dragged her magic back to her core and swallowed down the dizzingly metallic taste of it on her tongue. It had been years since she had had a display of accidental magic that bad. The silence in the room after her outburst was punctuated only by a steady dripping of something out of the fractured jars onto the floor.

Calla Madgwick sank her head into her hands, her voice muffled, "Just get out."

oOoOoOo

"Blimey Hermione!" Ron looked at her in awe as the lift doors shut and they began their descent back to the lobby.

"What?" she snapped, still fuming. Paperwork had engulfed them as they exited the office, flapping round their heads like a cloud of angry birds, presumably sent by that old crone, Madgwick, as Hermione was now thinking of her. They had had to trot to the lift to outrun it.

"Well, I'd kind of forgotten how scary you could be."

"Oh – sorry," she assumed he was talking about the breaking glass and how she had thrown a glass beaker at him in their fight, "It was an accident."

"No, I quite liked it!" he grinned, bumping her gently with his hip as they reached the busy reception, "It made me wonder what day of the week we might be starting on."

Hermione stared deadpan at him for a long moment before smacking him on the arm, "Ron!" she laughed, not sure whether to be outraged or flattered. Her laugh faded away when he grabbed her hand, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Come for a drink with me - there's a wizarding pub over there. Don't tell me you've got to go back to work, it's half five already."

She swallowed hard. She wasn't sure what he had been going to say, but she wasn't expecting that. Something in his expression told her that any other answer than agreement would not be accepted, "Ok," she followed him across the road to the Newt's Head.

Hermione blinked hard as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the pub. It was a study in darkness and dirtiness – sludgy coloured walls were littered with grimy portraits, their hosts all peering myopically through the layer of dirt on the canvas. One portrait was even trying to clean his painting from the inside. The ceiling may once have been white but now had a curious marbled effect that Hermione guessed to be a mixture of staining from pipe smoke and hex burns. The black flagstone floor felt gritty underfoot and the small amount of light coming through the windows highlighted the sticky sheen of grease on the table tops.

Making a mental note to never agree to get a bite to eat there after one of their appointments at St Mungo's, Hermione approached the bar with Ron.

"Firewhisky?" He asked her, and waited for her to nod in response and turned to the barmaid to place their order.

Hermione tried not to notice when the barmaid – who was, she supposed grudgingly, quite pretty, in an unwashed sort of way – ran her fingertips over the back of Ron's hand and giggled at him, even though all he had done was to ask for two firewhiskies. She busied herself with finding a table and making a show of scourgifying the seat whilst the girl flirted unnecessarily with her husband.

"She's friendly," Ron grinned, with a last glance at the barmaid, as he slid the glass over the table to her.

Hermione scowled at him, her arms crossed over her chest, "I thought she was going to climb over the bar and stick her tongue down your throat. Not that I'd care, but it's not very professional on her part."

Ron's face dropped and he took a double take at the bar, where the barmaid was now polishing glasses with a filthy rag, smiling sweetly at him as she did it, "Are you – you don't think she fancied me do you? But I'm married!"

"Ron, you were Witch Weekly's second most eligible bachelor. Even Harry was only number three! You must know that women fancy you. Besides, she didn't look the sort that a man being married would be much of a disincentive," she sniffed.

Ron hummed a non-committal response, looking a little pink, and took a deep sip from his glass. For a few minutes they drank in silence. Hermione felt the drink heating her from the inside, and some of the tension caused by the healer's appointment, and watching her husband get pawed (not that she cared, of course she didn't, it was just that it would look very bad if photos got into the Prophet) started to ebb away.

Ron looked as though he was going to say something, then stopped himself, then seemed to steel himself once more, "So are you going to tell me why you've gone all funny ever since the honeymoon?"

Hermione took a deep breath, the firewhisky lending her the bravery that she needed, "I'm scared."

She had expected Ron to be confused or nervous but he just laughed, "Is that it? You think I'm not?"

"You think I'm being a bitch?" she demanded

Ron held his hands up in front of him, pre-emptively defensive, "I think that your feelings - that I'm sure are far more complex than mine due to you being able to overthink absolutely everything and me… well, emotional range of a teaspoon are making you seem like a bit of a ….bitch. I get that it's scary, having a kid and all. I mean, Ginny and Harry are flapping about it, George is terrified about having one and he's already got one."

"It's not that – well, it is that a bit. I feel too young, and scared I won't be any good at it, and I'm not ready to give up work. I always thought I would have children one day but that was a nebulous future rather than the very real present. And there's the added worry that I'll likely end up as a single parent when the law's overturned. But….it's you," she knew she sounded heartless as the words tumbled out of her mouth and she wished instantly she could put them back in, just bite back those little words out of existence.

Ron looked down at himself in surprise, as if he were searching for some mark, some sign of what he had done wrong, "Me? What have I done?"

"Nothing. It's me. It's all too fast. It's too much,"

"I thought you said it was me, or is this one of these it's not you, it's me things," his expression hardened. It was a look she hadn't seen since school – it made her almost expect him to ask her if it was because she was hoping that Vicky would come and rescue her.

She tried to tell him the things she had read up on when she had returned, panicked to her house after the honeymoon, "Listen Ron, when you have sex, chemicals are released that tricks the body into feeling….it's a perfectly natural response, to trigger the nesting phase. That's all it is, I'm sure. I just don't want things to get confused between us," that sounded good. She almost wanted to get her wand out to conjure up a blackboard so she could draw up some of the names of the hormones, maybe a few diagrams. And yet Ron crumpled before her eyes.

"Ok, so you're worried in case I get my hopes up. "Don't forget Ron, this is just business, don't get carried away thinking we might actually have a real relationship". Well don't worry, message understood loud and clear. I'll be sure not to cuddle you after we fuck or anything else that might make you uncomfortable," he snapped nastily, draining the last of his drink before unfolding his long legs from under the table and standing to leave. Hermione saw the barmaid's head snap up from the magazine that she was reading, looking disappointed that Ron was going.

"Stop it!" she grabbed a handful of his robes and pulled him back down into his seat, as she shook her head in despair, "Oh, I'm not explaining myself very well, I know. I'd accepted that we were never going to see each other again, that things were over between us. That was a fact. And I'm good with facts. This – whatever this is…"

"Marriage," he supplied, reaching across the table to grasp the tips of her fingers with his own, his face downturned as he watched their entwined hands, "I know you probably think I'm naïve, or thick, but I think of it as a marriage. I know you don't feel the same. It might not be what either of us were hoping for but I will stick to my commitments."

"This marriage – I don't know how it's going to go. There isn't a book for this," she pulled her hand away from his and began tracing the grain of the table with her index finger. He stood back up and at first she thought he was going to leave again. She didn't make any attempt to stop him but he was just heading to the bar to get fresh drinks for the pair of them. Hermione didn't even want to give house room to the way her heart leapt like an excited puppy when she saw Ron being as business-like as he could with the barmaid without being downright rude, and she had to keep her eyes downcast as he returned to the table and sat back down next to her, in case she got the giggles at the way the girl had flounced off to the back room after serving him.

"Well so far things are going ok. We're friends? I'd like to think of that at least," he tilted up her downcast face, and smiled hopefully at her, an action that she returned easily, her heart swelling with affection for her dear friend, one side of the triangle that meant more to her than her life in isolation. She smiled back, unable to resist the way that the corners of his eyes crinkled up.

"You don't save someone from a twelve foot mountain troll, and then marry them to help them avoid a sticky situation with the ministry without being friends, I'd like to think," she agreed warmly.

"And look at us now, having a drink together, in a pub, unchaperoned. This is almost like a date. I know you're more used to Spagnolio's or places like that now but this will have to do. Is this scary?"

Hermione ignored the mention of Spagnolio's, not allowing the tiny barb to find its mark, "I suppose it isn't entirely horrible. But it's all the other stuff. The sex stuff. I don't know how you can be so calm about it."

"Well I don't find the idea of _you_ entirely horrible. And even I'm not so insecure to think that you would have gone out with me for years and find me repulsive. So perhaps that side of things won't be too bad. And maybe you won't get pregnant yet – it can take some people years. Why don't we try and get along as best we can for now so that when you do get knocked up, we stand a halfway chance of not killing each other. And if you start feeling those chemicals, or whatever, just remind yourself how I used to leave my socks all over the bedroom floor, or toothpaste in the sink, and I'm sure they'll pass."

"I thought I was supposed to be the clever one," she laughed.

"You're welcome. Just don't go all ice queen on me again."

Hermione swirled the amber liquid around in the bottom of her tumbler, "I'll try not to but just give me some time to…thaw. It took us six years to even kiss last time. I just need a bit longer to get my head round this. We can't all have the same zen-like calm that you have."

"I told you – a lot of self-help books. But yes, ok, I'll give you some space. Other than the obvious – I reckon if we go back next month without having shagged, she'll make us do it there and then on her desk. So, err, how are we going to go about it?"

"Well today's Tuesday so…are you free on Monday nights?" she picked the furthest away date possible, to give herself a week to overthink it, to plan it meticulously until it became nothing more than a mechanical act, devoid of any feelings or those pesky hormones. Because that had been so successful the first time they had tried on their honeymoon, she chided herself for her cowardice.

"That's our pub quidditch team practice night. Fridays?"

Hermione considered her schedule carefully, "I go out with the girls from work sometimes."

"Well weekends are out now George has buggered off, that's the busiest time in the shop," Ron grumbled, his face clouding over again just at the thought of how his brother had left him in the lurch. Ginny had told her that Ron had blocked the floo in the shop so that if George wanted to talk to him, he had to apparate back from America each time.

"Oh well I'm sure we can slot it in somewhere - oh shut up." She dug her elbow into Ron's ribs as he sniggered childishly, and swung her hair around to hide the smile on her face. She had missed his silliness so much. She allowed herself - when they were a couple - to dream of them growing old, of him making embarrassing dad jokes that their children would groan at, of him and Harry pulling pranks on each other that lasted decades. His tendency towards the ridiculous, a toned down version of Fred and George's, which had started to emerge once they weren't under the constant stress of war, balanced out her tendency to be overly serious perfectly and once he was gone she had felt its loss keenly. Its absence ached like a phantom limb on evenings when she got home to her empty house, too late and nursing a tension headache, after a hard day at work. One day she had got home after a five hour meeting with the head of the Goblin Liason Office to find that he'd brought every pygmy puff home from the shop and made her sit on the floor and play with them until she was smiling and had forgotten anything about goblin rights.

They finished their drinks and Hermione promised to owl the next day with her availability. As she pulled her coat collar up around her neck, she turned and took one last look at her husband's retreating form and wondered whether she should have just invited him home with her. Batted her eyelashes and offered him a nightcap. That wasn't really her style though – that was more for the type of girls that threw themselves at him, for barmaids in grimy pubs desperate for a brush with fame. She shook her head slightly at her own foolishness, before trudging down the rain soaked street, trying to remember if she needed to get another tin of cat food for Crookshanks before she got home.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.**

 **The usual beta love to kabg01 who I** _ **will**_ **turn into a Romione fan!**

* * *

Hermione flipped the book closed to look at the cover again, 'Sympathetic Magic – Two Souls Made One', and sighed. She should have known from the twee symbols and faux-mystical description on the sleeve that it was going to be a load of codswallop. She'd asked one of the assistants in Flourish and Blotts if they had any books about married couples being able to combine their magic and they had presented her with this. If she hadn't made precious little progress on her research so far she wouldn't have given it a second look. But other than Molly telling her it was just one of those things that sometimes happened between a husband and wife, and that it was nothing to worry about, she seemed to have hit a brick wall with her research. Idly she read the author's introduction and noted that the writer had been awarded some major prize for their work in the field of divination. Hermione felt cheated, having read through three chapters in which this charlatan had made claims about soul mates, and love and other things that Hermione knew to be untrue. Because it was her and Ron that had felt it – two people who had no business being together – so she was certain it must be something to do with the marriage contract itself – nothing as airy fairy as soul mates. Grabbing her wand, she levitated the book over to the bin, setting fire to it for good measure. She needed to focus – her mind was being pulled off in too many directions and she was starting to feel like she had exams coming up and not enough time to study. Her work obviously took priority, along with trying to find a way to end the marriage law. Then there was trying to crack the Dragora potion with Draco, which was still proving almost impossible, even with Snape's notes. As much as she wanted to know what had caused her and Ron's magic to join together in the cabin, it would have to wait. Reluctantly, she pulled a pile of parchments towards her – the work she had been neglecting in favour of perusing the book that was now smouldering in the wastepaper basket.

Suddenly, she snorted awake, scrubbing the drool off her face and wiping the parchment she had been resting on, with her hand. A quick glance at the clock told her it was late enough that she should have gone home instead of trying to push through the final document she had wanted to read. A knock at the door alerted her to what had woken her up in the first place, and this time it was accompanied by Harry's voice, sounding concerned,

"Hermione, I can see your lamp light under the door. Are you going to let me in or am I going to have to blast the door open?" The door handle rattled ominously.

Hermione scrabbled around on her desk to find her wand and waved it at the door, "Sorry, sorry. I was trying to read some changes that have been proposed to the Werewolf Registration Bill and I didn't want to be disturbed."

"Hard at work, were you?" Harry grinned knowingly. Hermione looked herself over frantically for what had given her away.

"I've not been made the youngest head of the auror department in eighty years for nothing," Harry tapped the side of his nose, "Not only did I hear you snorting like a hippogriff with a head cold when I knocked on the door but you have creases all over the side of your face where you've been leaning on the desk. Don't worry!" he assured Hermione as her hand flew to her face, her eyes wide with horror, "It's well past clocking off time, no one would accuse you of slacking. I'm only even here because I got back late from a raid and I needed to put some artefacts in my safe. The rest of the building's nearly deserted."

"Oh thanks Harry, I'll just finish reading this and then I'll go home, I promise."

"You'll do no such thing. Come and get a drink with me – I'm celebrating."

Hermione recognised the order hidden in his words and remembered the nights where he and Ginny would take it in turns to come and fetch her from work to make her leave for long enough to get something to eat and at least try to sleep. She nodded in acquiescence, tidied her desk and reached for her travelling robes.

Just a few minutes later they were in a little bistro with steaming bowls of soup, great hunks of bread and huge glasses of red wine in front of them. A candle, stuck in a wax dripped wine bottle flickered in the centre of the table, sending shadows dancing over the red and white checkered tablecloth.

"I love the food here, it always reminds me of Hagrid's cooking, except, you know…good," Harry finished guiltily as he dipped his spoon into his bowl and took an appreciative slurp of soup.

Hermione tried not to giggle, "So what are we supposed to be celebrating?"

"We tracked down Travers. It was horrible really, he was living in his grandmother's cellar, drinking her wine and eating whatever scraps he could sneak out of the kitchen. He hadn't seen daylight in so long he could barely stand it when we took him outside. If I didn't know some of the things that he'd done, I'd have felt sorry for him. The grandmother was so dotty she didn't even know who he was – she couldn't remember if she had known he was there or not." Harry shook his head piteously.

"Poor old lady, was there any evidence of the imperius on her? Prolonged imperius can create effects like dementia. I've got a book about it somewhere at –"

Harry shook his head once more, cutting her off, "No, she was just about two hundred years old. And actually, she wasn't a very nice old lady. Her house was like Grimmauld Place, right down to the house elf heads on the wall and everything. It was some of her things that we'd seized that I needed to put in my safe."

"Even so."

"I only took the really dangerous things, I didn't want to distress her too much. It seemed like she'd lost her magic anyway. I'm going to send a healer round to take a look at her, see if there's anything they can do to help her."

Hermione allowed the corners of her lips to curl up just a little. Of course Harry had tried to help the elderly lady. It was one of his 'things' – one of his protective Harry things. After the war, when they had found the time and the courage to talk about things, Harry had admitted to her the guilt he felt about Bathilda Bagshot; about the horrible way she had died and that no one had missed her for so long. She had tried to tell him that it wasn't in any way his fault that Voldemort had killed her but her words had had little effect. This wasn't the first elderly person that he had pushed towards a woefully ill-equipped St Mungo's, where the healers seemed to all have been taught the same mantra, that the elderly should be cared for by their family, which hadn't really satisfied him. He'd even written a piece for the Prophet about it. Rita Skeeter had written a counter article claiming that Harry was trying to manipulate the elderly into leaving him everything in their wills. It had all got very messy and Ginny had managed to convince him not to turn it into a crusade but it didn't stop him trying to help individual cases when he could.

"So has Travers gone to Azkaban?" she asked as she dipped a crust of bread into her soup.

"We were about to take him when he pulled a package from his robes. The idiot blew himself up. I think he'd had enough of being trapped. We're waiting for the results of what it is but Eriksson from the potions lab thinks it was a mixture of powdered erumpment horn, salamander blood and ashwinder eggs. Injured two of my men with him."

"Well I think it's a shame he won't stand a proper trial, although I must admit I won't be mourning him too hard." Hermione shuddered as memories of Travers' face as he'd flung curse after curse at her when she was polyjuiced as Harry surfaced murkily from wherever she had repressed them to.

"Now there's only the Lestranges still on the loose, not that we've seen any trace of them for years. They've either died, gone abroad or they're being hidden by someone high up." Harry pushed his hair back out of his eyes and Hermione noticed the grey strands threading at his temples. She couldn't miss the dark circles under his eyes either, "It's been too long," he sighed, "All these years and I'm still clearing up the mess that Voldemort left behind." He lifted up his glasses and pinched his eyes, massaging the corners of them with his fingers to try and ease the burning grittiness.

"Are you ok Harry?"

"Sorry," he brightened, topping up their wine glasses, "Just tired. We were staking out the Travers house for three nights before we struck. I've barely had a decent's night sleep since we started. So why are you so tired that you're falling asleep in your office? Newlywed life wearing you out?"

"Not in the way you think! But Ron's so busy at the shop now George has gone and I'm snowed under at work – Luna's fallen in love with the grandson of the man who wrote our Magical Creatures textbooks and her reports have become, shall we say, scattered. We're both working every hour we can. And to fit in…." Hermione reddened, "The Ministry's requirements, well, neither of us are getting much time to sleep."

The waitress came over and cleared away their bowls and cutlery. When she asked if they wanted to see the dessert menu, Harry said yes with an eagerness that momentarily eclipsed his greying hair and tired eyes and transfigured him into the scrawny eleven year old boy that Hermione had grown to love. Her heart swelled with the kind of fondness that made her want to squeeze Harry into a tight hug.

Harry looked up from the laminated card, "Well that sounds promising? So you're spending more time together?"

"Hardly. We just get on with it once a week, which I managed to persuade the reproductive healer at St Mungos counts as 'regular'," she had the grace to blush slightly at this, "We don't really see each other apart from that and at family functions. On a good week, we barely need to spend more than twenty minutes in each others company." Hermione folded her hands primly over her menu and affected her sternest tones but if she was hoping that would stop any teasing from Harry, she was wrong.

"Sheesh, not much time for pillow talk then," before he sniggered into his wine

"What?" she asked automatically, although she wished she could take it back as soon as she had said it. She wasn't sure that she wanted to know what he found so amusing. She wasn't sure how much longer she could talk about her relationship with Ron as casually as if it were a potions experiment or a mildly interesting bit of news. Her fingers itched to grab Harry's lapels and demand he tell her if Ron had said anything to him about her but she forced her expression to remain serene. Fortunately the waitress took that moment to come and take their orders and she assumed that the thought of a hearty slab of date and walnut cake, smothered in custard, had distracted Harry sufficiently.

It wasn't until their desserts had arrived and Harry had taken a heaping forkful, his eyes rolling skyward in silent praise for the cake that he sniggered again, "It's like you've got a fuck buddy. But it's your husband! Talk about friends with benefits."

"Neither of us are getting any kind of 'benefits' out of this situation, I can assure you. It's only so we can answer the questions for our monthly testing. Did I tell you they're giving us veritaserum now?" She tried to say it lightly but she couldn't help the way her spoon shook in her hand, chinking gently against the glass dish that held her chocolate mousse.

"That's shocking! That wasn't ever in the law was it?" Harry gasped in horror.

"No, and Amy Jones, Amy Avery, I should say, at work hasn't had to have anything like this level of testing. She only has to go in every few months and have her health checked. No quizzing, no pregnancy testing, no orders to… They're threatening to put me on a fertility potion next month."

"I wonder what's in it for them that you get pregnant?"

Hermione's face darkened as Harry voiced the thought that she had been trying to dismiss as paranoia, "They want me out of the way. They think that if I'm distracted by having a baby to look after, I'll forget to fight them. They obviously don't know me very well. And of course, baby brain is just a myth."

"I don't know – I caught Ginny spooning frogspawn in her tea the other day." Harry said skeptically, picking up the fork that he had dropped in his shock.

"A craving?"

"No, she said she just got distracted."

"So are you looking forward to being a dad?" Hermione asked, hoping to turn the conversation to more cheerful topics and away from her marriage.

Harry's energy seemed to come back to him just at the mention of him being a dad – he sat up straighter, a wide smile on his face. Only a slightly manic gleam in his eyes betrayed his nerves, "Yeah! More than anything. But it's scary too. Like – how will I know how to do it?"

"It's just natural isn't it," Hermione immediately realised what the problem was and reached across the table to grip Harry's hand tightly, "– oh – Harry, you're going to be a wonderful dad. Just because you grew up with the Dursleys doesn't mean that you've missed out on some social need or something."

Harry groaned, running the hand that Hermione wasn't crushing the life out of through his hair, making it even messier than usual, "Hermione, it wasn't until Molly gave me a hug once that I realised, I couldn't remember ever being hugged."

"Oh Harry," her eyes stung with tears, both of pity for the neglected boy and at the memory of her parents' arms around her.

"What if I forget to hug my kid, or I forget to feed them, or I forget not to whack them with the wooden spoon when they're walking past me?"

"It's exactly because of that you'll always remember to be a good dad. And if you don't, I'm sure Ginny will remind you," she let go of his hand at last with a fond pat.

"Speaking of Ginny…" Harry checked the time on Fabian Prewett's watch, "She's probably expecting me home soon. I owled her to let her know the raid was a success. Plus you need to go and get some sleep, young lady,"

"See, you're a good dad already!" said Hermione, with a laugh, as she hailed the waitress for the bill.

oOoOoOo

"Cheers mate," Ron said as he clinked his pint glass against Harry's, nodding as Harry returned the sentiment, "I saw in the Prophet you got Travers. Nice one. I remember how he shook my hand, like I was dirt on his boot - and that's when he thought I was in his side! Scumbag."

They both drew deeply on their beers for a moment, smacking their lips in unified appreciation of the cold, frothy drink. As they'd got older, they had tired of the sickly sweetness of butterbeer and adoration alike and had tended to frequent muggle establishments more and more when they met up for a drink. Harry looked cautiously around the pub - the rest of the clientele seemed to be engrossed in the football game being shown on the widescreen on the far wall, but he flicked his wand under the table and threw up a muffliato, just in case, "Shame they made out like we'd offed him, still you can't expect the Prophet to report the facts can you?"

"What really happened?" Ron leaned in to listen over the angry roar of the men in the blue shirts and the jeering chants of the ones dressed in red. Apparently they'd kicked that little black and white ball into the goal. Funny sport, running about like mad men. Harry and Dean had explained the rules to him and it was a bit like quidditch but he could never quite get into it.

"Bastard had a dirty bomb. Nearly took half my team with him. Wilkins is still in St Mungo's. It's left us really short staffed if you fancied coming back and working with me?"

Ron heard the tone of hope in Harry's voice and noted how he had said with me rather than for me, but he shook his head to dispel the visions of them running from burning buildings side by side, their cloaks billowing behind them; the shiny badge that read 'Auror Weasley', "Wish I could mate, just for a break. I'm run ragged at the shop since George decided to go to America. I had to have a nap standing up in the stock room the other day."

"I'll have to remember that one for when the baby comes along!"

"You alright about all of that? It's pretty bloody scary isn't it, thinking about, you know, having a baby."

"Sometimes I'm ok and sometimes it all just gets…..pfffft in my head," Harry waved his arms outward to demonstrate. They drained their glasses in silence and Ron returned to the bar for another couple of drinks.

"Schtill, oo and Inny are a itty good eam," he mumbled around the packet of crisps he was carrying in his teeth. He deposited the glasses on the table and ripped open the foil packet and flattened it out on the table. "I'm sure that must help. You'll both be around for the kid."

"For all the good it'll do," Harry said grimly, "I'm sure Ginny'll be fine but I don't really know about family stuff do I?"

"I reckon being a dad's easy - when they're little, pick 'em up and cuddle them a lot. Changing nappies can't be worse than trying to feed a blast ended skrewt. Stick some food in them if they look hungry, make them go to sleep when they're tired. Same with your wife, I reckon. Then teach them how to fly a broom, help them with their homework, tease them if they fancy someone and tell a few bad jokes. Not that I reckon I'll get a chance to find out. I doubt I'll even see much of my kids -they're from a broken home before they've even been born. Pretty fucked up, that is."

"Mate, when are you and Hermione going to just give up on pretending that there isn't something between you."

"Don't know what you mean Harry," mumbled Ron, reddening before adding in a falsely casual voice, "she, err, hasn't said anything to you about it has she?"

"Yeah, she said she was madly in love with you."

"Really?" Ron asked, his voice squeaking in shock, before he saw Harry laughing, "Bugger off! You only had to say no!"

"She said you're really busy - she seemed pretty tired."

"Not half, we're both working every hour on the clock at the moment. I was so tired the other day, Hermione had to use one of her charms, you know, for doing it, and let me tell you I never have problems in that department."

"Did it work?" Harry leaned in with horrified fascination.

"It was Hermione doing it, of course it worked. Bit too well really, I had to stay behind the counter all morning at the shop!"

They both laughed and sipped their beers.

"And, erm, how about Hermione?" Harry asked, cringing slightly. Ron's insides curled like a salted slug just thinking about the conversation that he had had with him in which he had explained that Hermione refused to let him make the experience pleasurable for her.

"Still the same. I think she feels like if she enjoys it too much or does anything over and above the Ministry's express instructions, then they've won. It's either that or something to do with hormones. I'm not quite sure. She's actually drawn up a schedule of when we need to do it. It's like a homework planner!"

"For shagging!" Harry spluttered into his drink, ending up with a foamy moustache.

Ron shoved him with his shoulder, "Shut up!"

"But you're getting on better aren't you?"

"Just peachy," Ron grimaced, "She's talking about us moving in together. Not like that," he said in response to Harry's surprised face, "Just she thinks I need looking after. She's worried about me, or something, I reckon. Probably thinks I'm too useless to look after myself."

"What's happened?" Harry asked when he had recovered enough to speak, Ron's reddening face only making him all the more curious.

 _"Whassammarrarr?" Ron mumbled groggily, burying his head into his soft pillow. His soft, warm pillow that smelled of the flowers in the back meadow back at the Burrow. A sharp poke in the ribs dragged him back to unwilling consciousness._

 _"Ron," hissed Hermione in his ear. Her breath tickled and he reached up and attempted to swat her away with a slumber-weighted hand._

 _"Ron," she tried again, "You're...in me."_

 _The words had the effect of an electric charge._

 _Ron's eyes shot open and was greeted by Hermione's face, only inches from his own. Doing a mental inventory of his body, he found himself sprawled over Hermione and that her statement was indeed true. Mortification washed over him in a flood of hot blood that flushed his face and made his ears tingle. How in the name of Merlin's underpants had that happened? They had been doing it, it had been going fine. Better than fine. Fantastic actually. Hermione felt so hot around his cock it was like a dozen mouths kissing and licking him at once and her tits were jiggling up and down as he thrust into her, the action making her nipples peak. The sight of them made him nearly blow his load straight away. He had leant down to nuzzle his face against Hermione's neck and it had felt so warm and soft, like coming home. His balls tightened at the feel of her hands on his arse, urging him on. He had slowed down, to prolong the experience. Slower. Slower... Shit. He must have fallen asleep. He rolled off and onto the mattress with a groan._

 _"Oh bollocks, do you think that means we need to start again?"_

 _"Ron, you fell asleep! Whilst, you know! And all you're worried about is that you need to subject yourself to it again!" Hermione shook her head in disbelief, causing thick clouds of hair to flick over his face. Clearly he'd said the wrong thing. The filter, weak and full of holes as it was, that existed between his brain and his mouth, had clearly given up due to exhaustion._

 _"I just meant….Hermione, I'm really tired," he was aware of the whining tone in his voice and attempted to stifle it. Complaining about having to shag didn't seem like much of a complaint after all._

 _Thankfully, Hermione either didn't pick up on it or decided to let it slide, "I know," she murmured, patting his shoulder, "How long were you at the shop today?"_

 _"Eleven hours," Ron admitted sheepishly, "I flooed straight there from the meeting I had with the Minister for Magic in Australia."_

 _"When was the last time you slept" Hermione looked horrified, propping herself up on one elbow whilst being careful to tuck the quilt around herself. As soon as the deed was done, she became terribly prudish, Ron had noticed, keen to make a clear distinction between them shagging and them going back to normal again. He wondered what would happen if he just leant over and kissed her right then, probably he'd get a slap._

 _"What day is it today?" he asked groggily, the warmth of the covers lulling him back to sleep. Hermione's sheets were so much more comfortable than his own. When they had been living together, Ron had always been shocked at how much Hermione was prepared to spend on sheets and the like but after having bought the very cheapest things he could find to cover his bed in the flat when he moved in there; in an act of childish rebellion that had seen him muttering under his breath as he stalked down the aisles of Couche and Cawldrone, the wizarding homeware shop, throwing pillowcases and blankets into his basket with surprising viciousness; he was grudgingly able to see her point. Where his sheets were so scratchy and rumpled that no amount of Madam Skower's fabric softener could revive them, this bed was warm and inviting. His eyes were growing heavy again even as he ran his hand over the smooth, 300 thread count sheet._

 _"If you need to ask what day it is, I'm going to assume that the answer is that you haven't slept in a while. Honestly Ron, you need to get some help for the shop, you're going to make yourself ill."_

 _Ron swiped his hand down his face, groaning inwardly because as usual, the infuriating witch was right, and what's more, she had probably guessed why he hadn't done it, "I know, I know. I just feel like, if I go ahead and get someone new to work in the shop…"_

 _"Then it's like confirming George really has gone?" Hermione guessed, "But he has gone Ron, and by the sounds of it, they're having a fantastic time in America – Angelina sent me a postcard last week – working yourself into the ground and refusing to talk to George isn't going to make him come back."_

 _"I'll do it next week," Ron agreed, sleepily. Hermione had that gleam in her eye that if he didn't get on with it, she was going to get involved and then there would have to be meetings, and ridiculous interview requirements, and shortlists and all sorts, "so…errr…don't bite my head off for asking but do you think we do need to do it again?" he extended his hand under the duvet to lay it on the sof of her waist but withdrew it again before he touched her. He didn't think he wanted to see her flinch away from him. "No, I don't think so. The rules don't explicitly say that either of us need to finish."_

 _Ron saw how her cheeks burned and her mouth set in a determined line. The fact that she was refusing to allow herself to let go, to fully enjoy the experience Bemused and frustrated him. He was sure he could push her, he could angle his cock to hit just the spot inside her, suckle on that sensitive patch of skin behind her ear and force her over the edge, but it didn't seem right._

 _He scratched the back of his neck, uncertain. He was pretty tired but seeing the flush across her face and neck made his cock twitch in response and he reckoned he was up to the job. It wouldn't do for her to think he had problems or anything – she might make him read that pamphlet about wobbly wands and then he'd just about die, "I'm pretty sure old Madgwick won't like us playing any more games like that."_

 _"How about just this once?" Hermione suggested._

 _"Cool," he mumbled, his eyes already starting to close as he tucked his hands under his head and settled deeper into the pillows._

 _Hermione kicked him in the shin, jerking him back awake with a snort, "You can't sleep here, you know. Go home."_

 _"You have got to be kidding me!" which even he knew was a pretty bloody stupid thing to say, because he could see from her face that she wasn't joking and since their honeymoon he had never been invited to stay overnight._

 _"I'm not enlarging the bed, it'll scuff the carpet. And I like sleeping alone."_

 _Ron rose reluctantly out of bed, pulling on his vest and trousers, shrinking the rest of the clothes he had left in a neat pile by the bed and stuffing them into his pocket, grumbling sulkily as he did so, "Twycross said you shouldn't ever apparate when you're tired."_

 _"Well…Twycross said a lot of things, as I recall. Now bugger off. I need to be at work in…" she checked her watch, "four hours."_

 _Ron took the fact that Hermione was criticising a teacher to mean that she was entirely serious. With one last longing look at the bed, Ron turned on the spot, trying to concentrate on the flat above the shop._

 _Pain and blood. That was all Ron was aware of as he sank down onto the carpet. So much of both. A cold sweat sprang up over his body and he had to fight his immediate urge to vomit. He looked down and immediately wished he hadn't. A crimson puddle was spreading over the floor at an alarming rate, gushing from the area where his foot should have been but wasn't. He was just trying to reach for his wand in his back pocket as black stars sparkled and multiplied in front of his eyes when the crack of apparition echoed through the air._

 _Hermione landed almost on top of him, clutching his foot, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she repeated over and over as she bent low over his leg, her thick curtain of hair mercifully hiding his injury from view. There was a great bang and a puff of purple smoke and although his leg was still agony, he was also aware of the strange sensation of his foot reattaching. It felt almost like when he had fallen asleep on his arm then felt the blood flowing back into it when he woke up and moved. Eventually she seemed satisfied and sat back on her heels. Ron saw she had a smear of blood across her cheek and her thin dressing gown was badly stained deep red._

 _"Thanks," he muttered, his voice rasping._

 _"You could have killed yourself, and it would've been my fault!" Hermione choked through her sobs._

 _Ron reached over, even though moving sent fresh pain through his injured limb and patted her on the shoulder, "Yeah, well I'm fine. Good as new," he grimaced round the lie as he looked down at the unhealed flesh of his ankle, "Very neat job you did. Much better than in the forest."_

 _"I've been practicing," she hiccuped, "I didn't want to be in that situation again," she looked down at the wound and shook her head sadly, her lips tightly pressed together as though she was fighting the tears back again._

 _Suddenly, she stood and turned on the spot, vanishing. Ron assumed she had left and was just wondering how he was going to get up off the floor but seconds later, she was back with an armful of glass bottles, "I went to an all night apothecary," she explained, passing him a large bottle, "blood replenishing potions - drink as much as you can stomach."_

 _Ron gulped at the viscous, ferric liquid and tried not to gag. A stinging in his ankle and a familiar herbal scent left him in no doubt that one of the other items Hermione had brought with her was dittany._

 _"I've done all that as can for now." she sank down next to him and gripped his hand tightly and leaning her head against Ron"s shoulder, which still bore the scars from his previous splinching accident. Ron's stomach flipped over in a way that was completely unrelated to the blood replenishing potion as he felt the warmth of her body seeping into his skin, the way her hand fitted so neatly against his own_...

"You got splinched? You splinched your whole foot off?" Harry shouted shrilly, calling Ron back from his recollection.

"Errr, yeah." He hitched his foot up onto his chair and rolled up his trouser leg to reveal an inch wide ring of fresh scar tissue around his ankle, "Hermione keeps applying essence of Dittany but it's still taking a while to heal."

"And you didn't think to mention it? How did you even get here today? Please don't tell me you're using magic?"

"As if, she won't let me do anything. That's what I was trying to tell you. She won't even leave me at the flat on my own, keeps fussing over me. She even took a day off sick from work the day after so she could stay with me

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his shock of hair, fixing Ron with a look that was just a bit too knowing. Ron wondered if he could fake his leg hurting to distract him, "Oh I bet you're just hating that, having Hermione nursing you back to health. Mopping your fevered brow," Harry smirked.

"Shut up," Ron punched him lightly on the arm, "She thinks that I'm running myself into the ground and we should be housemates or something so she can keep an eye on me. So now we've got to go house hunting because she thinks the flat's too small for us and Crookshanks and her place is too far from the shop. House hunting. Sounds like a bloody holiday. Glad I don't need rest or anything."

The pub rang up with a cheer - the blue team had scored a goal. Ron feigned interest in the television for a moment in the hope that Harry wouldn't notice the delighted grin spreading across his face.


	21. Chapter 21

**This chapter is for gurrumais by way of apology for it taking so long!**

 **Sorry the updating is a bit slow at the moment thanks for being patient and also all of the positive reviews.**

* * *

"The problem is, it's weakened him a lot and he's not helping himself get better – he's working all day in the shop, trying to fit in maintaining all of his security contracts at the same time. He won't accept that he needs to rest for a few days. He's going to make himself ill if he's not careful. I'm just staying for a few days to make sure he eats properly and gets a few hours of sleep every night until he's better."

"I've got to say, Hermione, of all the excuses I've ever heard for moving in with someone, losing a foot in a splinching accident has got to be one of the worst, least romantic –"

"It's got nothing to do with romance Ginny. As I keep telling you. And Harry. And anyone else who will listen, there is nothing going on between Ronald and I."

"Except marriage."

"Except that."

"And shagging."

"That's quite enough now. And I think it's pretty rich from you, Miss 'Oh Harry, please can I move into Grimmauld Place with you, mum wants to turn my bedroom into a sewing room'."

"Well she did…probably! So how is married life treating you?" Ginny asked.

"Not as well as it's treating you," Hermione nodded to Ginny's burgeoning stomach, "I don't know. It's starting to feel…familiar maybe? Maybe the same as it used to be, when we were friends at least. It's still not quite right though. It's like…like when you thought you'd lost your lucky Holyhead Harpies t shirt." Ginny had spent a week looking for it frantically, only to find that Harry had been wearing it when he went for a run after work. It wasn't the most elegant metaphor, Hermione realised, but it avoided her having to discuss the tangle of emotions that overwhelmed her every time she thought of Ron.

"Did you really just compare your marriage to my brother to my ratty old qudditch robes?" laughed Ginny.

"I'm not the one who hexed all of Harry's hair off after I found him with said quidditch robes!" Hermione retorted, curling her fingers around the stem of the cool glass in her hand, "It's just that it feels familiar and comfortable being with him but…it's all just a bit misshapen now. It doesn't seem to fit quite like it used to. And there's always that worry that it might go wrong again,"

"Well now I know you aren't talking about my t shirt – there's no way Harry would dare take it again," Ginny laughed as she sipped her glass of juice with a longing glance at the condensation beading on Hermione's glass of wine.

The two of them had indulged in an unashamedly girly day: they had been shopping, at Ginny's insistence and hadn't stopped until Hermione's feet were sore and she wished that she had brought her beaded bag to stow the shopping away in, or at least Ginny would break her "no putting shrinking spells on clothes, it misshapes the fibres" rule. Once they had entire new outfits, from underwear to shoes, they had gone and got facials and had their hair done. She had tried to tell her that a pregnant woman shouldn't be on her feet for that long but Ginny brushed it off and had charged ahead into the next shop with the kind of energy Hermione could only wish for. Ginny had taken charge in the hairdressers, aided by an all too willing Anton, who Hermione had long before suspected of being bored of her usual six weekly trim. He had used his wand similarly to a muggle curling tong, winding each strand of hair round and round until all of her hair fell in voluminous curls down her back.

Once it was finished, Hermione couldn't help a shy smile in the mirror, "It's actually quite nice," she admitted.

"Pshaw, it reeks of sex. That is what you mean," Anton declaimed dramatically, before he turned his attention to Ginny, teasing her hair up on top of her head, "And where is it you ladies are going, that means you have to have entire new outfits, and hairstyles?"

"We're going on a double date!" Hermione was almost surprised that Ginny hadn't waved her arms in excitement to accompany her uncharacteristic squeal. She must have failed to hide her exasperated amusement sufficiently because Ginny, gimlet eyed, exclaimed dramatically, "It's alright for you, this might be the last time I get to go out in years!"

Hermione, who knew full well that Molly and Arthur, already doting grandparents to their rapidly growing brood of grandchildren, and honorary grandparents to Teddy, would be on hand to babysit whenever Ginny wanted, just took a sip of her drink and said nothing, keen to avoid another version of the talk that Ginny had been giving her all day – that this was definitely a very real and serious date and should be treated as such and that and slacking by Hermione would not be tolerated.

Eventually they were sufficiently beautified and headed back to Grimmauld Place to change.

"I look like a beach ball!" Ginny wailed, examining herself in profile in the large mirror in the sitting room, drawing her teal swing dress in under her small but pronounced bump for maximum effect.

"Ahh, but you're my beach ball," Harry entered the room and snaked his arms around her waist, kissing her on the cheek as he admired their joint reflection over her shoulder.

"Yeah, don't worry sis', it just looks like an engorgement charm has gone a bit wrong. We can tell people we're on the way to St Mungo's if anyone asks," Ron joked, moving swiftly to catch the hairbrush one handed that Ginny had thrown at him, "Ha, you'll have to move faster than that to get one Ron 'The King' Weasley. Hi Hermione," he added on, almost as an afterthought, smiling down at her as she fiddled with the clasp of her shoe. She rose stiffly to greet him. They aimed a kiss at each other's cheek, both awkwardly inclining their head the same way, then switching, giggling nervously. Presumably Ron had been drilled with the same 'this is definitely a date' speech, because he seemed as nervous as her, despite the fact they had been getting on perfectly fine for the past week.

"Good day?" he asked, stepping back to a safe distance away from her.

Hermione huffed ungraciously, "Your sister has dragged me through just about every shop in London it feels like."

"You look nice," nodding to her black velvet dress and making her blush. Hermione was just about to return the compliment about his suit but a cushion flew through the air and whacked him on the side of the head.

Harry and Ginny cheered, giving each other a double high five. "It was a great pass by Potter to Potter and Potter scores!" Harry commentated, as the hand that Hermione had clamped over her mouth failed to hold in the gale of laughter at the look of open mouthed surprise on Ron's face.

"Potter is our Queen!" Ginny sang tonelessly, dancing around the room.

Hermione threw up a shield charm between the siblings, trying not to laugh when Ron bounced ineffectually off it, landing in a heap on the floor, "Time to go, I think."

They headed outside and, rolling his eyes slightly, Harry stuck out his wand. He seemed to brace himself, not against the jerking of the tall purple bus that jerked abruptly in front of them, but the effusive welcome he knew he would receive from Stan Shunpike.

"Welcome to the night bus," the purple clad conductor started as he stepped out of the door of the bus, his arms spread theatrically, before he noticed who had hailed the bus, "Chosen one!" Stan pulled Harry into a tight hug. He may have been boastful and at times an inattentive bus conductor, but no one could accuse Stan of being ungrateful. After the war, when he was freed from Azkaban, word had somehow reached him that Harry had argued his innocence and that, coupled with his blurry memory of Harry's mercy during the battle of the seven Potters, was enough for him to issue Harry with a lifetime of free travel on the bus and treat him so affectionately that it made Harry uncomfortable. True to form, Stan was getting a little misty eyed at seeing Harry, and hadn't seemed to notice that he had now grasped his hand and was pumping it up and down furiously, "Here Ern'! It's only 'Arry Potter! 'Arry Potter who saved my life! When everyone else had deserted me, he remembered me! The Ministry was going to leave me to rot but –"

"Err, four singles to Diagon Alley please Stan," Harry managed to extricate his hand from Stan's vicelike grasp, "No beds or hot chocolate required."

"For you 'Arry Potter, the Knight bus is always at your service. Eleven sickles each to the rest of you," he added, barely able to tear his eyes away from Harry for a moment to address the rest of them, instead just holding out his hand for the money. Harry put two galleons into his hand and they made their way down the bus to find armchairs.

"Take 'er away 'Ern!" Stan cried to the ancient driver, hanging on tightly to a strap hanging down as the bus jerked forwards with an almighty bang. As they started moving more smoothly, they heard Stan move upstairs and start telling another customer in loud excited tones about how Harry Potter was sitting downstairs.

"Not a word," Harry warned, raising a finger to the other three as they struggled not to laugh, "Let's call me paying your bus fare buying your silence."

Mercifully Ernie Prang too felt they deserved some kind of preferential treatment. Either that or he was as tired of hearing Stan go on about the Chosen One as Harry himself was. Whatever the reason, he dropped them straight at Diagon Alley so their journey was only a few minutes long. Ginny had chosen the restaurant – a muggle Italian restaurant just a short walk from the Wizarding quarter, claiming that she had a craving for their spaghetti and meatballs. The narrowness of the pavement meant that Ginny and Harry had to walk ahead and Ron and Hermione naturally fell in line behind.

Ron was silent, his eyes trained down on the pavement as they walked along in step, "Are you alright?" Hermione fussed, "You don't need to be a hero you know. I've got a pain potion in my handbag, just in case you need it."

"I'm fine, stop going on! Honestly, you're worse than my mother. You'd think no one had ever been splinched before! It's embarrassing enough having done it, let alone being reminded of it every five minutes. Just stop nagging me!"

"Fine!" Hermione replied huffily, increasing her pace so that Ron couldn't keep up, before spinning on her heel so fast that the skirts of her dress whirled out around her, "Actually, no, it's not fine. Ginny is really excited about tonight, she's spent all day getting ready and dragging me along with her, hence my ridiculous get up, so please don't get into a strop and spoil it. You might not want to want to be here on this date but can you please just pretend you don't mind for a few hours, then you can be as grumpy as you want."

Ron stopped dead on the pavement, hands on hips, oblivious to the annoyed glances of the people whose way he blocked. He cocked his head on one side, looking intently at her, "Who says I don't want to be here? And for the record, I don't think you look ridiculous."

Hermione bit her lip, frowning. Ron's gaze on her made her feel hot and shivery all at once. She took a tentative step back towards him, feeling an almost magnetic pull.

"Here we are!" Harry called back down the pavement to them, waving towards a cosy looking restaurant. In unison, their heads turned to Harry, twin expressions of guilt on their face, as though they had been caught doing something they shouldn't.

"We'd better…." Ron gestured ahead of them, his cheeks pink. Hermione nodded in agreement and hurried towards the restaurant.

Hermione slid into the booth next to Ron and picked up the menu. Ginny, who was clearly in no mood to hang about, hailed a waitress before Hermione had even had the chance to read the starters. The waitress looked a little surprised but came over to take their orders nonetheless.

"For starter, please could I have the spaghetti and meatballs, just as a starter portion?" Ginny asked.

"Of course, and what do you want for your main course?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs please," Ginny said so firmly, as she shut her menu with a snap, that the waitress didn't dare to do any more than widen her eyes and write down the order on her notepad. The others glanced at each other, trying not to laugh and gave their orders. Hermione noticed how the waitress smiled at Ron and asked him if the table wanted to order any wine. In the wizarding world, people always gravitated towards Harry, but here in a muggle restaurant, the waitress seemed to view Ron as the leader of the gang. She cursed herself for her jealousy, reminding herself how silly she had thought it when Ron used to get jealous, and that actually the waitress was simply doing her job. After all, it wasn't her fault that Harry's stature showed all of the eleven years of neglect that he had suffered and he was always keen to shrink away from attention whereas Ron, tall and broad shouldered, revelled in leadership. She couldn't blame her that Ron had that relaxed manner that made him so easy to talk to, and a smile that drew you closer and blue eyes that were impossible to look away from, and…..Merlin, she needed to do something about her feelings, before she started writing him poetry about fresh pickled toads.

Ginny and Harry were laughing about something that George had sent them for the baby – a toy that transformed into a cloud of butterflies when the baby laughed, apparently.

"It sounds like they're having a great time," Ginny said, eyeing Ron, "George seems so much happier."

"Well good for him," he sneered, "So glad he's having a nice holiday while I pick up all the work."

"It's not a holiday – he's trying to make a new life for himself. One without Fred overshadowing it. I know it isn't nice to think of him wanting to leave Fred behind but he can't live in the past forever – he's got a family to think of now. And I know for a fact he's been sending you of suitable assistants to help you out in the shop and you've been blowing them up. How's that working for you, considering you're supposed to be recovering?"

Ron's ears reddened, "It seems like it's my day for getting nagged," he grinned ruefully at Hermione, "Fine. The next decent person that applies for the job, I'll give them a chance, how about that? Happy?"

"Delirious," Ginny replied dryly. Hermione threw her a grateful smile, relieved that she had managed to talk some sense into Ron.

"I know you're right about George. You must be right, because Hermione's been telling me the same thing. I have been a bit of an arse about it, I suppose."

Hermione reached across unthinkingly and squeezed his hand under the table. Ron looked at her, surprised but didn't let it go, a smile breaking out slowly over his face. Harry and Ginny were talking about something but all Hermione could think was how she was holding Ron's hand, and how natural it felt.

Suddenly, she realised that Harry was talking to her and she had been paying no attention to what he was saying, "… I've been sounding Kingsley out for information about the marriage law and he thinks that some people may have been paid off to vote in favour of the law. Just a select few to sit there and whisper to their neighbours about what a great idea it was and to shout 'hear hear' at the right moment."

She tried to compose herself even though she couldn't concentrate on anything but the warm fingers brushing against her own, "Well corruption in the Wizengamot is hardly a big surprise. There was probably the same number of people who were bribed to vote no. I've been researching Hazeldene and he's a pureblood from a family as old and inbred as they come. I'm not sure why the Hazeldenes weren't part of the Sacred 28 but he's well in with the Parkinsons and Goyles of this world."

"Well he's not in with the Weasleys," Ginny sniffed. The subject of the Sacred 28 was always a contentious one for all Weasleys who bitterly resented their inclusion on the list.

"Well I would like to think that if he came round yours for tea every Saturday, you might have mentioned it," Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend, "I just can't find out much more than that – he seems to be a complete mystery."

"Well I may be able to help you – I've got his personnel file here," Harry pulled a slim manila file out of his pocket, shrunken to miniature size and held it out to her.

Hermione hesitated, realising that if she reached out for the file, she would have to let go of Ron's hand, and she didn't think she had the courage to take it again once the bond was broken, Harry frowned and waved the file at her, allowing her a glimpse of the Ministry insignia on the front.

"How did you get hold of this? Did you steal Ministry property?" asked Hermione, shocked enough to let go of Ron's hand and snatch up the file.

Harry grinned self-consciously, "I may have had to carry out a little bit of subterfuge."

"And a little bit of chatting up that witch in personnel that fancies you?" Ginny turned to glare at him but Harry just shrugged and laughed.

"Well, being the chosen one must have some perks."

"Thanks anyway Harry, I do hope you don't get in any trouble."

"All ministry confidential personnel files have a trace on them so they can be tracked down if they go missing," Ron took the file from Hermione and turned it over to reveal the purple and orange WW logo on the back, "Luckily I can just…Abuigare," he pressed his thumb over it and twisted it sharply clockwise, causing the seal to drop off, "Don't you try that if you want to pinch anything else – your thumbs will drop off," he warned, looking at them seriously. Without the hint of humour that so often danced around his eyes, Hermione could see why so many people took him so seriously at work.

"That seems a bit of an overreaction doesn't it?" she exclaimed, as she picked the file back up to put in her handbag.

"Says the girl who scarred someone for life for betraying her," Hermione couldn't be sure but she thought she heard Ginny snigger under her breath at Ron's retort.

At that point the waitress brought over their starters and for a few minutes there was silence as they all ate, no one daring to come between Ginny and her prize.

Eventually Harry asked, "How's the house hunting going?"

"We think we've found the place," Hermione announced cautiously.

Ron stared at her in disbelief, "What do you mean think? We've paid a bloody deposit! You promised we wouldn't have to go and see any more. I don't think there's any houses left in England that we haven't looked round anyway!"

"Oh alright, we've found the place. I just can't believe it's real."

"Did you have trouble finding somewhere then?" Ginny asked, making Ron snort with amusement.

"Just a bit. What? It's true!" he exclaimed as Hermione glared at him, "Hermione decided that we needed a muggle and a magical estate agent so we could look at the full range of properties."

"Yes, I've already apologised about that. I'd forgotten how inconvenient muggle houses are. But in my defence, that woman was awful."

"Well the magical estate agent wasn't much better! Still, she came through in the end. Not that there was anything wrong with the first twenty houses she showed us."

Hermione's eyebrows nearly disappeared up into her hair, "Are you joking? What about that place we saw in Clerkenwell – the witch that lived there before had blown the roof off."

"At least it was light in there."

"What about the one that was underwater?"

I like swimming!" but Hermione could tell he was trying desperately not to laugh and turned back to Harry and Ginny, biting back her own giggles.

"Well in the end she took us to a lovely little place. It belonged to Elphias Doge but he's gone to live in Bournemouth with his sister. When he found out it was us trying to buy it, he tried to drop the price to almost nothing but we wouldn't let him. He wouldn't take anything like the asking price though. I do hope he hasn't left himself short – they wanted to go on a cruise this winter."

"What's it like?" Ginny asked with interest.

"It's a terraced town house, like yours, but with a garden out the front – full of every potion ingredient you can grow in Britain, and an enchanted greenhouse in the back garden to grow all the ones you can't."

"Which was in no way influential in Hermione liking the place," Ron joked.

"It's a bit dated but it's got dozens of rooms and with a bit of decorating it'll be perfect. I wanted to get an interior design firm in but Ron seems to think we need to do it all ourselves."

Ron folded his arms on the table top, "I just don't see the point of throwing money away when we could just as easily do it ourselves – dad'll show me all the decorating spells."

"So is it far?" interrupted Harry, recognising the warning signs of an argument.

"That's the best bit," Ron grinned, "It's about ten minutes walk from your place, so if we have a skin full round at yours, we can just walk home."

"Great news mate!" Harry laughed as the waitress cleared away their plates and brought their next course.

The food was delicious and the company was great but eventually Hermione noticed Ginny trying to hide a yawn behind the back of her hand; and as the waitress had evidently decided she would prefer to be at home in bed rather than ogling Ron, she had started noisily cleaning the tables around them, throwing them dark looks; she decided it was best to call it a night.

Harry helped Ginny on with her coat, dropping a kiss onto her cheek as he did so. It was an act so caring and strangely intimate that Hermione felt the need to glance the other way rather than watch. Ron met her eye and grimaced, embarrassed.

"Hermione, we're going back behind the restaurant to apparate, are you going to come with us?" asked Harry blithely.

Hermione shook her head, "I'm going to walk back to Diagon Alley with Ron, make sure he gets home ok and doesn't stay up all night working," she saw Ginny raise her eyebrows but resolutely ignored her look of amused scepticism.

Harry just nodded and started making arrangements with Ron about a quidditch match they were going to at the weekend. Ginny hugged Hermione tightly, her bump hard and round between them.

"Night sister, be good tonight won't you," Ginny winked at Hermione, a cheeky smile on her face.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh don't you? I saw the way you were looking at that waitress who was chatting him up. Why don't you just stop overthinking everything and just go for it?"

"Go for what? Ron doesn't see me like that anyway," she glanced in his direction but he was oblivious to their conversation, instead watching Harry who was now acting out a quidditch move.

"I wouldn't be so sure, tonight was his idea, you know. To go out, all together. On a date. Honestly!" she exclaimed when she saw Hermione purse her lips and shake her head in disbelief, "He said you'd be more likely to agree if I asked you rather than him and I wasn't to tell you he had anything to do with it."

"Which you are completely ignoring," Hermione pointed out, hoping to put the attention on to Ginny to divert from the quick intake of breath she took when Ginny told her, the way her face was flaming.

"What are annoying little sisters for?" she squeezed Hermione tightly again.

The four of them made their way out of the restaurant. The streets were largely deserted, save a few drunken revellers weaving along the pavement. With one last wave, Harry and Ginny slipped down the grimily dark alleyway behind the large wheelie bins and Hermione felt the ebb and flow of their magic as they apparated away. A light drizzle was falling and Hermione tutted in annoyance at the fact that her hair would almost instantly be back to its normal frizzy state, throwing up an impervious over her and Ron's heads. They attempted small talk about how nice the food was, and how quaint the restaurant for a few minutes but it soon faded away. Maybe it was down to the fact that the impervious shield above their heads was only the size of a muggle umbrella but the tips of Ron's fingers kept brushing against the back of her hand, sending sparks of electricity up her arm and making her magic leap in her belly. It was so distracting that she found the effort of conversation too much and was content to just walk in silence.

Eventually, it was Ron who broke it, "You didn't need to walk me back, you know, I could have done it quite easily walk back on my own. You may not have noticed but I am a man, quite a big one at that," he said, looking down at himself in amused surprise, as though he still expected to see the scrawny lanky figure of a thirteen year old.

Hermione tutted, "I know but you could be taken ill and then what would you do? You can't use magic."

"I'd just lie down and wait for one of those muggle aurors, ploicemen to come and find me," he grinned infuriatingly.

"Isn't it just easier that I walk you home and you stop moaning about it and at least pretend to be grateful for five minutes."

Ron just huffed but he slipped his arm through Hermione's so she guessed he must have been feeling tired after all and needed to lean on her.

By the time they made it back to Diagon Alley, Ron was limping heavily and his face was looking quite pale, enough that Hermione was starting to wonder whether he'd let her levitate him home.

She knocked on the door of the Leaky Cauldron, which was already closed, and to her surprise and relief, a sleepy-eyed Neville opened the door.

"Oh, it's you two!" he exclaimed, looking too pleased to see them to blush at the fact that he had been caught in his pajamas at the Leaky Cauldron at one in the morning.

"Alright Neville, things going well with you and Hannah then I'm guessing?" Ron teased.

"Yeah, pretty good, well better than pretty good really. She's amazing. It's like, all the things that I've always thought were stupid about myself, she likes! And she's just so –"

"I'm sure they don't want to hear about it," smiled Hannah, as she appeared at Neville's side in her dressing gown, but she glowed warmly at his words and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek so she couldn't have been too bothered.

"Is everything alright anyway?" Hannah asked, concern furrowing her brow as she took in Ron's pasty complexion and the way he was leaning heavily against the door frame, "Do you need to get into Diagon? Trouble apparating, or is it something else?"

Hermione saw Neville draw himself up – the hero of Gryffindor ready to fight – and appeased him quickly, "It's fine, it's just we've had a bit to drink and…" she trailed off, unsure if Ron would be embarrassed to admit he couldn't do magic at the moment.

"I got splinched mate," Ron admitted, shamefaced, and waved his leg about for good measure, "The missus has got me on a travel ban."

"Yes," Hermione agreed, relieved, "In fact Neville, I don't suppose you mind giving me a hand getting Ron home?"

"Of course!" said Neville and, transfiguring a beer mat into a travelling cloak so neatly that Hermione couldn't help but look surprised, "We quite often have to do it for people who have had one two many or lost their cloaks on a night out," Neville admitted, with a glance at Hannah that left Hermione in no doubt where his newfound confidence for spellwork had come from.

They made their way out to the scrubby courtyard out the back of the pub, Neville now supporting Ron on one side and Hermione on the other, as Ron continued to apologise. With Neville's help, they quickly managed to get back to the shop and up the stairs to the small flat. Hermione was going to offer Neville a cup of tea but he seemed keen to get away, calling, "I'll leave you two to it, come and see me at the pub at the weekend," over his shoulder as he retreated down the treacherous spiral staircase down to the shop.

Hermione helped him to the squashy sofa and lowered him down into it. He fell back heavily, the momentum nearly pulling her into his lap. His hands settled on her hips to settle her it instead of pushing her back up, Ron just held her against him. One of her hands was on his chest and she could feel his heart pounding in time with her own racing pulse. Looking into his eyes felt like falling - like sailing in free fall.

"Hermione," he whispered huskily, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Cup of tea?" Hermione blurted out the first thing that came into her head, although the words came out too squeakily for her liking. She leapt up out of Ron's lap and dashed to the kitchen.

"Not for me, I'm exhausted. Don't reckon I've got the energy to drink it," Ron said, his words slightly slurred as if to demonstrate his point.

"Idiot. Idiot! Stop being such an idiot Hermione. What are you, twelve? You are a highly intelligent witch who is capable of dealing with her emotions like an adult. Stop being an idiot! " she muttered to herself under her breath as she reached into the cupboard for a mug with trembling fingers. As she cast an aguamenti charm to fill the kettle and started heating the water, she called back through to Ron, managing to control the quaver in her voice this time even though her mouth was painfully dry, "Ginny said it was you who asked her to set up tonight's date – which really was very thoughtful of you…"

"Always the tone of surprise," Hermione heard Ron mumble from the other room.

"Yes…well. I was obviously wrong with what I said earlier. And that made me wonder why you might want to go on a date with me? I mean, I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but perhaps I've been a bit hasty, you know with the homework planner, and making everything so formal…."

Ron didn't say anything to disagree with her so she screwed her hands up into fists so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her palms, "…I suppose what I'm trying to say is that I thought it would be easier to try and turn my feelings off but obviously I'm so far of wrong that I wouldn't even know how to get back to anything making sense without you keep showing me the way. You've acted nothing short of decent throughout this whole thing and I've been acting like a child having a tantrum. And what I really mean is…is…it would be stupid of me not to admit that between us there is some kind of, well more than some kind of - from my part anyway - I'd actually say what I was feeling was quite a big…"

A soft snore interrupted her. She poked her head round the door to see Ron's head lolled back against the sofa, his mouth open wide

"Attraction." She finished sadly, her shoulders slumping. She summoned a blanket from the bedroom and covered him over. As she tucked it around his shoulders, he smiled in his sleep. She bent down and kissed him on the cheek before making her way to bed.


	22. Chapter 22

**Sorry it's taken so long to post this! I've been suffering from writers block something chronic. I think I'm over it now for the time being. Thanks to kabg01 for helping me, as usual!**

* * *

Elphias Doge had just handed over the heavy brass ring of keys to Ron, his rheumy eyes sparkling with emotion after having given them a final tour of the house. They were standing in his - their - front garden, boxes piled up beside the gate, some neatly labelled in Hermione's hand, some just simply with 'Ron', scrawled across them. Crookshanks was spitting and yowling from his cat box, making Hermione dread the reaction she would get when she finally let him out.

"It's an honour to see you moving into here, a real honour. I just hope you'll be as happy as I have been. Honestly, it feels like Dumbledore is smiling down on me, knowing that you'll be moving in here. I just feel guilty about taking money off you at all – after all, you and Harry saved the wizarding world – my house seems a small price to pay for that."

"Please, Mr Doge – Elphias," Hermione amended hurriedly, remembering his insistence that they should address him by his first name, "We feel uncomfortable enough as it is, taking the house for such a low price. You've worked tirelessly for the Ministry and the Order. You were fighting Voldemort before we were even born. You deserve a comfortable retirement. If we thought you wouldn't be able to afford your cruise – I know how much you wanted to see the Bemuda Triangle -"

Elphias winked at her, "I wouldn't worry my girl, I do have the galleon or two stashed away. Plus these arrived today!" he pulled a couple of small, glossy pieces of parchment out from the sleeve of his robes, "Two tickets for a round the world cruise. It looks like I won them in a competition on the back of a packet of cauldron cakes. I don't even remember entering! Still, that's getting old for you I suppose."

"Congratulations!" Ron laughed in disbelief.

"Must be my lucky day. Now I've sent my luggage on to Bournemouth and if I don't go after it soon, my sister Elsie will be rifling through it all, trying to organise me, so I'd better be off."

He tipped his moth eaten fez to them, twirled elegantly on the spot and disappeared. Hermione made to walk through the open door but Ron grabbed her by the wrist, spinning her back towards him.

"Hang on a minute, Gin would kill me if I didn't do this properly," and before Hermione had a chance to ask him what he meant, he had slid one hand behind the crook of her knees and hoisted her up into his arms.

"What on earth are you doing?" she shrieked, clinging on tightly around his neck with one hand and batting him with the other to put her down, too panicked to realise the contradictory nature of the two acts.

Ron carried her over the threshold, before dumping her down on the floor in the hall, "Harry's right, you are sturdier than you look," he smirked, rubbing his forearms.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, pulling at her top where it had ridden up, "I am not! It's not my fault Harry has the upper body strength of a twelve year old girl."

"Unlike me," joked Ron, flexing his biceps. Hermione tried not to look but her eyes were drawn to the definition under his t shirt, resenting the girlish reaction her body had to him showing off his muscular arms like a caveman.

"Well why don't you put those muscles to good use, the oven needs a good scrubbing,"

Ron grimaced and agreed, knowing the sooner they cleaned the kitchen, the sooner food could be produced from it. It wasn't just the oven – the entire house needed cleaning from top to bottom. Elphias was obviously a tidy man by the look of the meticulously stacked books and well organised study they had seen when they looked round, and his beloved garden was still perfectly pruned, but perhaps he had started to find the household spells a bit much. Either that or his eyesight wasn't what it once was because the entire house was covered with a thin layer of black grime that even with magic, needed vigorous work to remove. Hermione offered to go round and remove all of the cobwebs, before they started cleaning, which Ron accepted gratefully.

Hermione almost enjoyed the work, stepping into each large empty room, imagining the shelves in the living room full of her books, looking forward to modernising the bathroom, revelling in the cool green light that filtered into the rooms that backed onto the garden. By the time that Ron called her to tell her the kitchen was done, she had banished enough spiders that it would have given him nightmares for the rest of his life, even with Crookshanks, (who had deigned to forgive Hermione after much petting and stroking and cooed apologies in his battered ear) following her around, eating his fair share.

Entering the previously dirty room, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see the difference made with a few well-placed scourgifies and presumably a lot of elbow grease, if Ron's sweaty brow was anything to go by. The work surfaces, which she had previously assumed were a dull gravy brown colour, were now a shining golden pine. Even the floor tiles revealed a pattern that she hadn't previously noticed. The windows sparkled and the oven was spotless. All of a sudden, Hermione could see herself cooking here, calling Ron in to taste a spoonful of something she was stirring on the hob. It wasn't like the small galley kitchen that they had owned together previously that had made squeezing past each other to reach the plates or get to the fridge such a game. Rather, it was more like the kitchen at the Burrow – the heart of the home. A family kitchen, she realised with a jolt.

"Well? Don't you want to tell me I've missed a bit or something?" Ron asked, standing close by, his hands on his hips.

"I think you've done brilliantly," she beamed at him before dissolving into giggles, "It's just…Oh…at the risk of repeating myself, you've got something on your nose!"

Ron scowled and swiped ineffectually at the black smudge. Hermione pulled him by the arm to face her and tapped him gently on the nose with her wand. The smudge vanished and she stroked her finger gently down his long nose. She was acutely aware of the intake of breath this caused him to take and her hand tingled with the desire to ghost her palm over his cheek, to run the pad of her thumb against the roughness of his stubble. Instead she just showed him her finger.

"There you go, all clean."

"Thanks mum," Ron laughed, breaking the moment between them as though he hadn't even noticed it, making Hermione deflate slightly, "So, do you want to unpack some of these boxes? I moved all of the ones marked 'kitchen' into here."

Hermione tore her eyes away from the freckles that dusted the bridge of his nose and began to examine the boxes. Already she was aware that the small kitchen table she had brought with her was not sufficient. She could transfigure it into something bigger but it wouldn't be the same, she realised as she thought fondly of the vast oak table in the burrow, scarred and scorched with countless meals – the table where Molly and Arthur had taught their children until they had been old enough to go to Hogwarts. They needed something like that – somewhere they could sit elbow to elbow at Christmas lunches, somewhere they could enjoy dinner parties with their friends, somewhere they could quiz the children about how their days were over nutritious meals. Then she mentally slapped herself; what was she thinking? There wasn't going to be a cosy family future for them! As soon as she had figured out how to overturn the law (and she would do that, if only for the sake of those like her friend Amy Jones, married to a former Death Eater), then Ron wouldn't be able to get away from her quickly enough, back to his ever moving procession of blonde witches. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, she lifted the tiny table out of the box, placed it on the floor and expanded it back to its full size, then did the same with the chairs.

"Reckon we can always stretch it a bit when we have dinner parties and things" Ron smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

Hermione frowned in suspicion that his thoughts had been mirroring her own so closely, "You'd want to do that?"

"Well, yeah, if you want? I'll help with the cooking! And not just eating bits and saying I'm testing the food."

The way he said it sounded convincing, and the pleading look in his eye made her believe that he really did want to spend time there, with her. More tantalising visions of the life they could have together drifted into her mind and she returned his smile with a wide, genuine one of her own, "Well if you want to, that sounds great."

Of course, she had to go right ahead and spoil it with the next item she pulled out of the box, the cork board that she kept all of her notes and things on. As she expanded it and performed a sticking spell to keep it on the wall, she heard Ron coming up behind her.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing to a multi coloured roster.

Hermione's cheeks coloured. She had made it for them in the run up to the move, thinking she was being helpful but she could tell before she even explained it that she had made a mistake. Would it be bad form to modify Ron's memory and pretend it had never been there? But it was too late, he was peering more closely at her neat handwriting in the multi-coloured squares.

"What in the name of Merlin's dangling plums is this?" he jabbed at it with his finger, "Have you really, honest to goodness, drawn up a planner that schedules when we shag?"

"I thought it would help,"

"10-10.30pm on Wednesdays? A whole half an hour? Well let's just hope I can last that long! After all, the romance of the situation might overwhelm me!"

"Well there isn't anything scheduled in afterwards…." She tried weakly, knowing it sounded pathetic even to her ears.

"And what's this before it? Dinner at the Burrow? Well that's sure to put me in the mood! Oh no thanks to second helpings of trifle mum, I'm scheduled in to bonk Hermione later and I don't want to be too full. Come to think of it, it's ten to ten, we've got to run, I don't want to miss my slot. Gods Hermione, I know we'd joked - at least I thought it was a joke anyway! I knew you had a schedule - we'd even laughed about it being like a homework planner, and I accept that I haven't helped things, being so busy but I didn't realise you actually had it all written down to the minute!"

"Yes you have been busy!" Hermione jumped on what he had said, glad of a way to swing the argument round onto him, "Let's not forget who splinched themselves trying to rush around all over the place. Heaven forbid that I try and organise our lives a little bit, no it's much better to carry on in chaos. I was actually trying to make things easier for you – I know how you put off chores when you don't want to do them."

"Let's not forget that I splinched myself after you kicked me out of bed!" he glared at her, perhaps hoping that she would back down but she just folded her arms stubbornly over her chest. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, making it stick up wildly, before letting out a gusting sigh and continuing in a calmer tone, "Is that what you think? That it's a chore that I want to avoid? Hermione, going to bed with you is hardly like revising for a test or putting the bins out."

"I just like to be organised," Hermione admitted, the wind leaving her sails as soon as Ron had made an attempt to halt their argument.

"I know. And I do need a kick up the arse sometimes. But I'd like to think that that wouldn't include shagging!"

"Well, putting the bins out is on Friday morning, see there, in blue."

"Married to Hermione Granger, what the hell have I done?" Ron shook his head dazedly, although the humour was back in his tone.

Hermione decided it was best leaving him to try and remove the doxy infestation in the living room curtains that rivalled the one they had encountered at Grimmauld Place while she made a start in the bathroom. Being with him was like being on a rollercoaster or some other fairground ride that swang dizzyingly from desire to discord and back again all in the space of a few minutes. Worse still was that she wasn't sure she wanted to get off but she didn't know how much longer she could stay aboard the ride and keep the strict demarcations that she had imposed on their relationship in place.

oooOOOooo

It wasn't until lunch time that they came across each other again, when Hermione unpacked the bag of sandwiches and ginger beer she had brought with her and they sat cross legged on the dusty carpet of one of the bedrooms to eat. Mercifully, several hours of hard cleaning seemed to have left the both of them in a better mood

"So how is this going to work?" Ron mumbled through a mouthful of ham sandwich, "Are we just going to divide the house down the middle or what?"

Hermione swallowed the lump of cheese that had suddenly stuck in her throat. Typically for them, they had skated over the details of sleeping arrangements. For a moment she wondered whether Ron would take her up on an offer to share her bed every night, not just the ones where they needed to be intimate. The thought of his warm, solid presence next to her every night filled her with a sudden longing that hit her like a sucker punch. But after her failed attempt to admit her feelings, she didn't feel she could put herself out there again. Affecting a look of casual consideration she said in a careless tone, even as her throat tightened around the words, making her voice sound squeaky, "I suppose I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, you work funny hours going abroad, and I would probably wake you up getting up early to go to work…"

She trailed off and was just gathering the courage to add a 'but' to the end of her sentence when Ron's shoulders dropped and he brushed the crumbs off his hands in a businesslike fashion.

"Right you are, separate bedrooms then. Message received loud and clear. I'll take this one and you can have the big one down at the end, that suit you?"

"But – " the word dropped out of Hermione's mouth before she could stop it. Ron just raised one eyebrow, looking impatient, as though he was keen to get back to work. Thinking fast, she tried to come up with something to say, when all she could think was 'but I'd sleep so much better if your feet were tangled up with mine and I could hear your breathing in the darkness' and stuttered out, "But…would it be ok to turn the box room into a study? I really need somewhere to work on things when I'm at home and my office is so full of marriage law documentation I can barely see my real work. You could use it too, if you wanted," she added as an afterthought.

"Sounds great," Ron agreed coldly, "After all, there's barely room for a bed, even a really small one. Best just use it as an office. Dad's owled me the decorating spells so I'll start in there to practice before I get the hang of it. He says getting the colour right is the tricky bit but it's not like you're going to want it any specific colour is it, you know, for an office. Not pink, or blue or anything. I'll start now."

It wasn't until Hermione could hear him crashing about in there that she realised what he was getting at. When did he become so sensitive and she become the insensitive one, she wondered. She had only been making a throwaway comment to cover up her embarrassment and she'd managed to upset him. She was tempted to let him burn his anger out while she went and got on with another room but she realised that they needed to start communicating properly, after all, that was what had split them up before.

With a deep sigh, she followed Ron down the corridor to the smallest bedroom. Her hand hovered over the door to knock before she lowered it and twisted the handle open

"Ron, I'm s –ARRGGHH!" Hermione's apology turned to a scream as Ron turned in the direction of her voice and the paint spraying from the end of his wand covered her from head to toe.

"Oh Hermione! I'm so sorry!"

"That was meant to be my line" Hermione muttered, pulling her sodden vest away from her skin and wondering if magic would get the paint out of her hair, when she noticed that although Ron had apologised, he wasn't looking very sorry. In fact he was looking more amused. Yes, his cheek was twitching in an attempt to bite down a laugh. Well, she'd show him!

"Repulso!" she said as she pointed her wand at herself. Most of the paint flew away from her in every direction, and she was satisfied to see a good amount of it splattering over Ron, some even landing on his mouth which was open in shock.

By the time he had finished spluttering and wiping his lips, Hermione was doubled up with laughter at the expression on his face, forgetting that it was his amusement that had caused her to retaliate in the first place.

Ron took a step towards her, sharklike, his wand raised, "You think you're so clever don't you. Well, I reckon you've forgotten one thing."

"What's that?" she tried to find the door handle behind her, not wanting to turn her back on him.

"I'm the one who knows the paint spell," Ron laughed, blasting her with another splash of paint.

Dropping her wand, Hermione threw herself at Ron, knocking him to the ground as she tried to rub the paint that covered her into his face. Suddenly she realised that she was straddling him and rubbing her chest his face, giggling hysterically as she did so. He obviously sensed her hesitation and used her moment of weakness to regain control, grabbing her by the wrists and managing to flip her over and in that moment the atmosphere changed from something playful to a charged suspense - a question that needed to be answered.

His face was almost totally covered in cream paint, his blue eyes shining starkly out at her, his hair, also thick with paint was sticking out in every direction, yet he had never looked more gorgeous to her. Her laughter died on her lips as his fingertips slid a trail across her collarbone, leaving clean lines in the paint up the side of her neck. One of her hands was trapped above her head by his, his hand circling her wrist easily. For once, neither of them got embarrassed, or nervous or laughed off the situation, and just the look of serious concentration on Ron's face as he painted swirls and stripes over her shoulders and up the sensitive underside of her outstretched arm made her lips part and a breath that sounded embarrassingly like a moan slip out of her mouth. Even this didn't make Ron smile though - his eyes closed and he took in a deep intake of breath of his own as he pressed closer to her. Hermione was acutely aware of the pressure he was applying between her thighs as he settled between her legs, feeling a pulsing ache for him to move closer still, add delicious friction with a roll of his hips, maybe to run those teasing fingers that were now moving with frustrating slowness over the exposed skin at her waist, along the seam of her jeans that was tight just there against where she wanted him. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer towards her and was rewarded when he ground himself against her, feeling his hardness even through their clothes, him murmuring her name in a voice rough with desire. Her breathing stuttered as she wound her hand up around the back of his neck, pulling him down towards her. Their lips were mere inches away from each other before he paused, giving her one last chance to push him away, not that she had any intention of doing such a thing. She needed him now, all of him, and to give herself in return - not just the careful, awkward touches and caresses that they had shared in their Ministry mandated lovemaking. She was ready to let go. Her lips touched his with what felt like an electric jolt.

Suddenly something large and silvery shot through the wall of the bedroom, causing Ron to scramble away from her in shock. Hermione let out a shriek of surprise when she saw Harry's patronus canter to a stop in front of them and begin speaking with Harry's voice.

"It's Ginny….not looking good…the baby…we're on our way to St Mungo's…think she's in labour…get here when you can."


	23. Chapter 23

**Hi sorry this took so long in posting! I deleted half of it by mistake and had to rewrite it. I didn't mean to leave it on a cliffhanger for so long.**

 **Thanks to my beta kabg_01 and all of you who have reviewed and followed the story so far.**

* * *

For a moment they did nothing but stare in dumb horror as the stag faded away. Ron sat up sharply, pushing himself away from Hermione, all memory of what was just about to happen gone from his mind.

"It'll be ok. It'll be ok," he repeated in an insistent tone to Hermione, wrapping his arm around her shaking shoulders.

"It's too soon, she's only six months pregnant. Surely the healers can do something to stop it?"

Ron pursed his lips, knowing that all the magic in the world couldn't stop a baby being born if it was on the way, "Yeah, probably," he muttered, although the way Hermione's wide eyed gaze skittered away from him to the wall behind him told him that she was sharing his lie.

"We er should probably…scourgify," she gestured to herself with hands shaking so badly that the paint changed colour but didn't diminish at all.

"Hermione. Hermione! Come here!" Ron wrapped his long arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head and allowed his warmth to seep into her suddenly icy feeling skin. "Ready?" he asked, when he felt her relax a little, vanishing away all the paint with a surer hand than hers.

"I am now," she smiled grimly, and linking her arm into his, apparated away.

They skidded into the reception at St Mungo's which for once was mercifully quiet and panted out Harry and Ginny's names to the witch on reception who directed them to the sixth floor.

"The maternity ward," whispered Hermione unnecessarily to Ron as the lift started its journey upwards. He knew it as well as she did – they had both visited the floor together for their reproductive appointments. He didn't say anything in reply, just reached out and squeezed her hand. His face was pale, his mouth a grim line as he stared upwards as though he was willing the lift on faster, as if that could help anyone. After what felt like an age, the doors pinged open and they rushed out into the maternity ward, both full of trepidation at what they would find at the end of the pale lilac corridor.

As they pushed open the double doors, the sight of Harry and a disgruntled looking Ginny stopped them in their tracks. They had their coats on and Harry was carrying a bag, so it looked as though they were on their way out.

"False alarm mate," Harry sighed in relief. Ron's face broke open into a wide beam as he sagged down into one of the chairs that lined the waiting room, his long legs stretching out in front of him. His heart, that had been pumping like a freight train, began to slow to a normal rhythm.

Hermione let out a long shaky breath between her teeth, "What happened?"

Ginny frowned again, the usually forthright Gryffindor seeming strangely reticent, "The doctor said it was a combination of overdoing it and the baby causing a distention in my stomach."

"But what does that mean?" Hermione pressed, still worried.

Harry barked out a laugh, "What my lovely wife means is that she's got wind!"

"Wind!" echoed Ron, collapsing into gales of laughter, so delirious with relief that it wasn't anything serious that it felt like he had just eaten an entire bag of fizzing whizbees in one go.

Ginny just crossed her arms over the top of her bump and scowled at the pair of them.

"Apparently cleaning the house from top to bottom then eating double helpings of spaghetti and meatballs topped with gherkins wasn't a good idea," giggled Harry weakly.

"So you're alright?" Hermione couldn't seem to make the words register, even now Ginny was fighting a smile herself, her cheeks flaming scarlet with embarrassment.

"Right as rain, the healer has given me some indigestion medication and told me to go home and let Harry wait on me for the rest of the day and that way the problem should…erm…pass."

"Yeah, it's my lucky day," Harry grimaced, making the others laugh all over again.

"You're the second person who's said that to me today," mused Hermione, "Elphias Doge said it too. He'd won two trips for a round the world cruise, which made me feel a lot less guilty about getting the house so cheap."

"Yeah, convenient wasn't it," Ron sniggered, "And he didn't even remember entering."

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, "What do you mean?"

He just jammed his hands in his pockets and said nothing, a smirk playing over his lips as he desperately tried to maintain control of his poker face. The problem was, he was shit at poker and he knew it – everyone from Ginny to Neville had rinsed him out before he refused to play for any more than knuts. However, it wasn't until his eyes flicked to Harry – a move that Hermione had seen so many times before from the boys when one of them was about to propose a crazy scheme or hit her up for some help with their homework and wanted the other one to back them up – that he realised he had given the game away.

"Oh Merlin," she groaned, running her hand down her face, "Cauldron cakes….cauld-ron cakes," she dragged the words out into their separate syllables, "Did you really – you made up some pretend competition so that you could give him some cruise tickets? You made the poor old man think he was going dotty!"

Ron finally met her eyes to see Hermione sizing him up like a leopard would its prey, and took a precautionary step back. Her wand was clutched tightly in her hand as she stalked towards him, spots of colour high on her cheeks and her eyes unnaturally bright. He swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure if she was going to hex his balls off or give him the scolding of the century but, Merlin forgive him, she looked hot. His heart had evidently recovered from its exertion and started to pick up the pace again. He couldn't help but notice how his pulse echoed in the lower half of his body, his cock making its presence known in appreciation for the way that Hermione's chest was heaving.

"Run mate," Harry warned.

"Say goodbye to Harry and Ginny," Hermione practically growled at him, grabbing his arm and preparing to apparate them away. Harry grimaced sympathetically at Ron, expecting he was going to receive quite the tongue lashing when he and Hermione got home.

As they landed, Ron brought his hands up defensively, "Listen Hermione I – oof –"

His breath was knocked out of him with the force of her body slamming against his; it was enough that the momentum carried them a few steps back against the wall of the bedroom that Hermione had brought them back to. However, he didn't have a moment to regain his breath before her mouth crashed onto his with such force that their teeth clashed. Her hands were everywhere – in his hair, squeezing his arse – pulling his body closer to hers and making every curve of her body mould to him as though they had been made to fit together.

He racked his brains for a moment, trying to think what he had done to make this happen, but his puzzlement soon gave way to lust fuelled blankness, only able to concentrate on the feel of her lips moving frantically against his, her tongue battling against his own.

It wasn't until she broke the kiss to pull his tshirt over his head that he choked out, "What the…?" He was aware that it wasn't the most erudite sentence he had uttered but frankly he was impressed there was still enough blood left in his brain to even come up with that. She started fumbling with his belt and he tried again, "What's brought this on?"

"What you did…it was…brilliant!"

"I take it I'm not in trouble then?"

"What do you think?" she grinned, slipping her hand inside the fly of his jeans and gently squeezing his rapidly hardening cock in a way that made his legs nearly buckle underneath him.

As the denim of his jeans pooled around his ankles, Hermione sank down to her knees, kissing a stripe down from his chin to his neck, down over his collarbone to the point where hair shadowed below his navel. With a devilish grin up at him she pulled down his boxers.

His head lolled back against the cool plaster of the wall behind him as she took his cock into her mouth, sliding her lips with agonising slowness from tip to base, then back up again, swiping her tongue over the sensitive underside of his head for good measure. Bloody hell, she was good. Better than good. Fanfuckingtastic. Her lips created just the perfect amount of suction and the speed was just so teasingly, achingly right to draw out his pleasure to dizzying heights whilst keeping him from blowing his load in an embarrassingly short time.

He looked down at her and immediately knew he'd made a mistake in doing so. She gazed right back up at him through her dark lashes, and removed her mouth from his cock with an audible pop. Then she stuck her perfect pink triangle of a tongue out from between her lips - red and spit shiny - to lick the bead of pre-cum that had gathered at the tip of his cock as though it was the most delicious fucking thing ever. He felt his balls tingling in anticipation and only the thought of Great Aunt Muriel naked on a cold day was enough to stop him exploding just at the sight.

He pulled her up by the armpits, needing more contact, and reined his hands in her hair as he pulled her in for another bruising kiss. His hips rutted against her, needing the friction as he walked her backwards and lowered her onto the bed, frantically pulling at her clothes and making very little progress with his fumbling hands. Eventually Hermione took pity on him and vanished them away and then there was nothing between them.

He hesitated for a moment, holding on to his self control with a will of iron, giving her a chance to tell him no. But she didn't. Not when he rolled her nipple between his long fingers, making her gasp, not when he ghosted his palm over the ticklish spot below her hip bone and not when he caressed the soft velvet of her inner thigh. Praying to Merlin, Morgana and every other magical legend he had half forgotten from History of Magic classes that he could make this good for her, he slipped his shaking fingers between her folds.

She wanted him. Gods, she actually wanted him, this, whatever. She was hot and wet and already beginning to rock against his fingers, a low whine of blessed want in his ear, even at his tentative explorations.

He slicked his fingers with her wetness then began circling her sensitive bundle of nerves. As it swelled under his ministrations, Hermione's legs began to shake slightly. He took this as a sign that he could be more bold, and began a faster rhythm, flicking his fingertips back and forth, his fingers moving easily over her slick clitoris until she was writhing against the sheets, her eyes squeezed shut. Her thighs tensed around his hand and her breath was coming in short gasps as the wetness under his fingers grew and grew.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against her warm, damp forehead, massaging her breast with his free hand, "Let go Hermione. Just let go," he urged in a whisper.

As her pleasure peaked, he felt his magic surge into her, nudging her over the edge and he just had a moment to marvel at the feeling before she tipped into oblivion.

She was fucking glorious - the feel of her, the small panting moans she was making, the way the tendons stood out on her neck as she rode through her orgasm. Ron was reminded of the way the sun shone through stained glass windows in the great hall and he almost laughed aloud at his brain's tragic inability to be able to come up with something that even remotely matched the wonder that was Hermione fucking Granger. Or Granger-Weasley, rather, because this creature, this goddess, who even now was pulling him on top of her, barely able to gasp more than "need you now..inside," was his actual bloody wife.

Every wet dream about her, the first feel of her boobs when they had been younger, even when the times they had made love before was all bleached out to pale insignificance compared to the feeling of burying himself inside her, her sigh of satisfaction ragged against his ear. He wanted it to last forever but even as his body called him to thrust, the urge to feel that delicious movement as basic as the tides, he knew it wouldn't last long. The pace of his thrusts picked up and each time he slammed his full length back into her, he felt his orgasm build and build to impossible heights that had every muscle tight and stars bursting at the edges of his vision.. Just as he was about to fall over the edge, he felt her tighten around him and looked down to see her chest flushed, her hands fisted in the sheets and her mouthing his name. It was the undoing of him and he spilled his seed into her as her walls pulsed around his cock, drawing out every drop. The feeling of synchronicity - of being totally joined physically, magically and emotionally was overwhelming.

"Wow," panted Ron, half laughing, as he rolled onto his back, enjoying the coolness of the sheet under him as he floated through his post-orgasmic comedown.

"Wow," whispered Hermione in response, and was silent for a very long time, long enough for the sky to turn from orange to purple outside the window, before propping herself up on one elbow to look down appraisingly at him. Her eyes were heavy and her hair was a birds nest that Ron didn't want to be around for the taming of, "You know, that really was a very thoughtful thing you did."

"I gathered you appreciated it," Ron laughed. Hermione joined in for a moment before she frowned.

"Although…" she paused, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that Ron could barely make out in the weak moonlight of the night was rapidly falling, "You don't think they'll find it suspicious that Elphias won those cruise tickets the same week the Prophet wrote to his sister and told her there had been an administrative error with the Annual Prize Draw from fifteen years ago that had only just been discovered and she had actually won second prize – a hundred galleons?"

Ron raised an eyebrow in surprise, "You didn't?"

Hermione just nodded, wide eyed.

"Nah, they'll be too busy booking their holidays to think of it I reckon. And if they come and ask us, we just deny it, right?"

"Right!"

Ron scratched the back of his neck, contemplating, "You know, if we'd just talked about it in the first place and come up with a plan together, this wouldn't have happened."

"Well that's just our problem all over, distilled down into this one ridiculous event."

"Let's not knock it too much – it seems to have worked out alright to me. But yeah, perhaps we need to just…"

"Communicate?"

"Deal. Now leave me alone woman, I'm knackered and if I don't get to sleep in about the next thirty seconds, I'm going to be about as useful as a troll in the morning."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but Ron placed his finger against her lips, "If I promise you can tell me tomorrow, will you please not explain to me all the benefits that trolls have made to our society?"

oOoOoOo

Ron stretched out his arms, feeling the crackle of tension popping out of his joints. Merlin, he had slept like the dead. Suddenly, the reason for his deep slumber rushed back into his memory and he couldn't have prevented the lazy smile that broke across his face, even if he had wanted to, which he bloody well didn't.

"Morning," he replied, his voice croaky from sleep, and he flicked his eyes open. Eyes, the colour of firewhisky, the lightest dusting of freckles over the bridge of a nose, that only really came out when the sun shone on them, nothing like his ugly splotches.

"You're bloody gorgeous, you know that," he sighed blissfully, his hands creeping down under the cover, revelling in the way the soft swells of her breasts fitted perfectly into his hands.

The corners of Hermione's lips quirked in amusement as she said in challenge, "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr Weasley."

"Everywhere?" Ron smirked and rolled his hips against her so she could feel how quickly he was stiffening before suddenly his face dropped just a little and he glanced at her nervously, not wanting to push his luck "Twice in one week?"

Frowning, Hermione rummaged under the bed for where she thought her wand had rolled the previous night, closing her fingers over the thin cylinder of vinewood. She mumbled a spell and Ron listened as something rustled up the stairs and into her outstretched hand.

"Now see this?" she asked, waving her weekly schedule under his nose, "This is what I think we're going to do with it," and with that, she ripped it neatly down the middle, then again and again until she was left with a handful of confetti which she tossed up into the air to rain down onto their heads.

Ron twined his hand into her hair, pulling her to him, and without breaking the kiss, rolled her on top of him so her legs straddled his hips. The ends of her curls brushed against his chest ticklishly.

Suddenly they were interrupted by a tapping at the window that could only have been an owl.

"Damn," Ron muttered into Hermione's neck, clinging to her tightly before she slid out of his arms and summoned her dressing gown to her.

"It's only an owl!" Ron laughed, leaning up on his elbow, deprived of his view of Hermione's as she walked towards the window, "He's not going to tell anyone if you're starkers!"

If he had expected Hermione to laugh or admonish him, he was disappointed. After letting the owl in and freeing the bulky package from his leg, she stood silently, looking at its contents. After a couple of minutes, Ron's curiosity began to outweigh his desire to stay under the duvet. Walking up behind Hermione he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder to see what had caught her attention so closely. The lavender package had the crest of St Mungo's on the outside and was full of small, identical glass phials and packets that he assumed contained pills.

"Fertility potions. I'm almost surprised it's taken them this long to send them," Hermione sniffed, "Perhaps they were hoping that the Weasley genetics would make them unnecessary."

"Perhaps they won't work," Ron said hopefully.

"Then they'll probably come up with something even more horrible. I just can't believe after all we went through in the war, everything we fought for, we've ended up like this. This is the freedom people died to preserve? I will live in the wizarding world for the rest of my life and will never understand why sometimes they are so BACKWARDS!"

She stormed off out of the room, the bottles clinking as she went. Ron rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, unsure of whether to follow her. He had heard her voice break and he was sure she was crying now. Whenever she cried, he just wanted to hold her and tell her that everything would be alright, even when he had no good way of knowing if it would be or not. It was like that ball of light that had flown inside him and filled him with the white hot need to be by her side – that was what her tears did to him. He just didn't know if she would tell him to bugger off or not. After all, he was part of the problem, he supposed. Part of the backward wizarding society she hated so much. He was the monster that was going to impregnate her and saddle her with kids when she wanted to, deserved to, fulfil her potential at work. She was going to do great things, and what was he – the manager of a joke shop? Maybe she'd rather he was Malfoy, perhaps he'd be a better father, after all, he must have had everything he wanted growing up – he'd know how to make a kid happy. And he could give it a better life, surely, teach it how to get ahead. After all, what was more backward than a wizard who grew up in a converted pig sty? If he had kids, they'd probably end up hating him as much as Hermione -

Abruptly, he cut off his thought process, and gazed down at the silvery scars criss-crossing his forearms. Since the incident with the brains and then the locket, he had often suffered with negative thoughts, worse than the insecurity he had had as a child. Healers had told him that it might fade in time but once dark magic had got a hold on the mind, it would always leave traces that could cling on in a nasty way. Mostly he managed to shut the thought down before they led him too far down an alley of despair, like he just had but sometimes he struggled to know if he was going to make things worse, just by being himself - stupid, too tall, never would be good enough Ron Weasley. It was one of the reasons he had found it easier just to shut Hermione out when they had fallen out, instead of trying to talk to her. But he knew that she needed someone – for all of her tough act, she was hurting. And whether she liked it or not, they were married now and that gave him some right to try and be the one to comfort her. Besides, the night before must have meant something to her, it hadn't been a mistake – it had been too perfect. And she had been happy to kiss him that morning until the blasted owl had arrived and spoiled everything. He nodded to himself, having weighed up the facts and come to the conclusion that her feelings towards him couldn't be entirely negative. He got dressed before following her downstairs, and found her in the kitchen with one hand on an open cupboard, staring in at the neat rows of potions that she had put away.

"You don't have to take one today, if you don't want to," he tentatively reached out and rubbed her back gently, ready to remove his hand if she flinched, "They won't know if you don't start until tomorrow."

"But then what? Ron, a baby? How will we cope? We just aren't ready! We're still just getting to know each other again! Waiting til tomorrow isn't going to make any difference. What would we even do with a baby? We don't know the first thing about them!"

Ron grasped her by the shoulders and span her round, bending his knees so he could look her directly in the eyes, "Breathe Hermione. Seriously, you're going to hyperventilate."

He waited until her breathing had slowed before he led her up the stairs. On the way she could hear him chuckling under his breath and muttering to himself about getting to know each other before he looked down at her a few steps below him, "We've been getting to know each other for the last fifteen years. I think we know each other pretty well by now."

"I just meant –"

He took her hand and drew her towards his bedroom, "I know you stealth eat biscuits when you're stressed, I know that rainstorms make you sad ever since that night in the tent when, well, you know, and you hate it because you want to think of it as in the past. I know you snore."

"I do not!" she insisted, nudging him with her hip as she felt the vice like feeling in her chest start to relax.

He glanced at her, nervous about whether what he was about to do would make things better or worse, and wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. Mouth feeling uncomfortably dry, he pulled his wand from his pocket and sent all of the books and knick knacks that he had unpacked onto the shelves flying neatly back into the cardboard boxes that were still stacked up against the far wall. He smiled at Hermione, hoping it looked reassuring rather than like he was about to throw up, although her furrowed brow suggested she couldn't work out what he was up to. He then sent the boxes skidding out of the room and down the hall. Then with another flourish of his wand, the walls that he had painted a manly shade of slate grey lightened to a delicate primrose yellow.

"You really are getting good at those decorating spells," Hermione admitted, with a smile, her fingers playing over a lock of her hair that still bore the faint traces of paint.

Finally Ron frowned at his bed, his head tilted to one side as he weighed it up. With one more wave of his wand arm, he transfigured the bed into a crib.

Hermione pressed her fingers to her mouth, "Oh," was all she was able to say, as tears glittered in her eyes.

"I can change it back, for now, if you want. I just wanted to show you that we will be ok. I mean, I might drop the baby on its head and you'll probably get ridiculously stressed out about the whole thing but in terms of the practical stuff…we can do this."

"I think it'd be alright to leave it like this, for now, just so I can get used to it," Hermione whispered hoarsely, squeezing his hand with hers, "But I really couldn't do without my office," her smile changed from wistful to mischievous, "So I think you'd probably better move your things into my room."

Ron pushed his hands into his pockets, looking embarrassed about how pleased he was with himself, "Where do you think I sent those boxes?"

"Ron!" Hermione tipped back her head, releasing easy peals of laughter before he silenced her with another kiss.


	24. Chapter 24

Ron ran his hands, palms flat against her skin, from her shoulders down over the globes of her buttocks, the water cascading down over them making his touch feel like the whisper of silk. He took a step closer to her, his hips aligning to hers, making her take an intake of breath as her breasts brushed against the cool tiles that hadn't yet been warmed by the steamy spray of the shower.

As his hard cock pressed against her inner thigh and his hands slipped round to cup her breasts, his lips were at the back of her neck, alternating between kissing the damp skin at her nape, where the humidity had made tiny curls frizz at her hairline and whispering how fantastic she felt against him.

Eventually she couldn't take the sweet torture and more and slid round in his arms to kiss him. Her lips met his with fervour, her soapy hands trailing suds through his water slicked hair. Ron's hands were roaming over every inch of her, like he was memorising her by touch, groaning into her mouth as she pulled him closer, her hands kneading the taut muscles of his arse.

With a swift movement, he hooked his hands under her thighs, lifting her from the ground. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist and her arms against her neck as he braced her against the tiled wall of the shower. With one decisive movement, he impaled himself into her, both sighing in unison at the relief of being joined. As Ron began to build up a rhythm, Hermione felt the tension starting to build inside her, her thighs start to tremble...

Hermione just about managed to avoid squeaking with surprise when an interdepartmental memo skidded across the desk in front of her, scattering the pages of a proposal for standardised pay for free elves, written by someone who seemed to have little interest on the subject and an even smaller grasp on the English language that she was supposed to be fact checking. It was no surprise her mind had wandered on to more…interesting subjects, such as the reason why she had been so late to the office that morning and why even now, her hair still had a hint of dampness clinging to it.

A feeling of cold dread overcame her as she read the brief note, which turned out to be from Mafalda Hopkirk, requesting Hermione drop by her office at her earliest convenience. Had she found out somehow that she had Hazeldene's personnel file, or that she had been snooping around about the marriage law? Just how much trouble would she be in, she wondered, as her stomach curdled with nerves. Knowing there was little point in putting off the inevitable and certain that she would feel dreadful until she knew, she hurriedly straightened her robes, smoothed down her hair, and set off for Mafalda's office.

Mafalda was sitting behind her desk, her fingers steepled when Hermione knocked tentatively on the door of her office and was invited in. She offered Hermione a brief smile but her brow was wrinkled in a way that didn't help to assuage Hermione's concerns.

"Hermione, thanks for dropping by. Sorry to summon you so perfunctorily but I'm absolutely snowed under with work and I just haven't the time for niceties."

Hermione just inclined her head sympathetically and told the older woman that she understood, letting her take the lead in the conversation in an attempt to work out what she was in trouble for before she started gabbling confessions.

Obviously her face gave her away a little because Mafalda laughed softly, "There's no need to look quite so worried. I want to offer you a job! You expressed an interest a few months previously and honestly you'd be an asset to the team. And it would help me out of a bind – I just haven't got the time to advertise the post – we've been stretched here in DMLE ever since Helen, my Deputy, resigned over the marriage law, and just yesterday Olive Rookwood resigned. To spend more time with her new family," Mafalda sniffed disdainfully before continuing, "Frankly I just need someone sensible to fill in for me at meetings, write reports etcetera etcetera. I can't pay you what Helen was on, bloody Ministry cuts be damned, but it'd be a fair payrise compared to what you're on now. How does that sound?"

"What is it exactly you're offering me?"

"Deputy Head of the Department of Law Enforcement. You've done your time tucked away in Magical Creatures, you've produced some good work. No one can accuse me of just offering you a plum job straight out of school just because of who you are, unlike some Auror Departments I could mention. It's about time you started progressing your career or you'll be stuck down there forever. Which would be a crying shame because you could do a lot of good here."

Hermione couldn't help her mouth dropping open slightly in shock. She had thought that Mafalda was offering her some kind of Junior Undersecretary or administerial post rather than such a major promotion.

Mafalda obviously sensed her discomfort and waved her hands airily, "Of course you need to think about it. Go away and let me know your decision in the next couple of days."

Hermione stumbled out of her chair, stammering out thanks and exited the room as quickly as she could, wondering how she could have gone from thinking she was in trouble to being offered a senior role in the Ministry.

Glancing at her watch, she noticed it was lunch time already and decided to go straight to the bustling cafeteria, weaving in a daze through the tables to join the queue. She managed to grab the last two pieces of the delicious looking chocolate cake they sold on only too rare occasions, which only seemed to add to her celebratory mood. Meaning to share her good news with the shy Welsh former Hufflepuff, Amy Jones, who worked in the Animagus Registry Department, who she often sat with at lunch time, she scanned the tables, looking for her friend's familiar blonde head. Unable to spot her, she checked her watch and noted that it was the time they normally met. Hermione shook her head in frustration – Amy was, if anything, even more of a workaholic than herself and if Hermione had guessed correctly, she was skipping lunch in favour of spending more time working on the amnesty on unregistered Animagi, that had taken up so much of her time recently. Remembering the all too frequent occasions she skipped lunch to work, and how awful she felt all afternoon, she rejoined the queue to purchase a sandwich and a drink, intending to deliver them to Amy along with the 'I've been offered a new job' cake, as Hermione had dubbed it.

Pushing the door to Amy's tiny office on level two with her foot, her hands full of the food that she only now realised it would have been much easier to suspend with her wand than carry along, Hermione called in to her, "You know, all work and no cake makes Amy a…oh! Sorry!"

A spindly looking wizard of about a hundred years old sat in the seat that she was used to seeing her friend occupying, "Apologies but Mrs Avery doesn't work here any more."

Hermione just frowned at him as though it was his fault somehow, "Has she moved offices? I'm quite sure she would have sent me a memo or something."

"No," he replied in his quavering voice, "She's resigned. It was all quite sudden really. One day she just sent in a letter, and said she wouldn't be coming back to work – she said she had a lot of leave to take and she was going to use that in lieu of notice. Said she needed to dedicate more time to her husband," the wizard scoffed as though he would never understand the foolishness of youth.

"But –"

"I can show you the letter if you like?" he fished around in his drawers and held a piece of parchment out to Hermione, but even across the desk, she recognised her neat script, and waved it away.

Excusing herself, Hermione returned to her own office, deep in thought. Whilst Amy had seemed less unhappy, more resigned of late to her marriage to Julius Avery, she had never mentioned any desire to give up her work and become a housewife. Suspicion prickled the hairs at the back of her neck – something was fishy, she could feel it. Pulling out a roll of parchment and a quill, she dashed off a quick note to Amy, making sure it sounded sufficiently bland in case it was intercepted, asking her if she was ok. She called an owl from the Ministry fleet, attached the parchment to his leg, giving him strict instructions to only deliver the parchment to Amy, if he could, and sent him on his way.

The idea that she might have been somehow pressured to give up her job, that her husband might have persuaded her that it was unseemly or ill-fitting for the wife of a pureblood to work, made her think again about how lucky she was to be married to Ron. Even if nothing had developed between them romantically, he would never tried to have imposed anything like that upon her. The daydreams that had filled her head so sweetly all morning began to drift back in before all of a sudden, a wave of crashing guilt washed over her so heavily that she dropped her head onto her desk with a soft groan.

Of course Ron would never try and make her leave her job, or try and influence her career in any way. That sort of action was reserved for controlling monsters like Avery…or herself. Her indignation at the way she suspected Avery had put pressure on Amy to leave work reminded her horribly of the way she had attempted to stop Ron leaving the Aurors. She had thought she had his best interests at heart and if she searched her conscience she was satisfied that nothing he had said about her wanting him to stay an auror for her being able to brag about it, she knew that hadn't come into it at all. But even though she had seen how much he had enjoyed being an auror and believed at the time that he had been having some kind of breakdown or had been running away from responsibility, she could see now that she had gone about trying to find out what was wrong in her usual bullish, 'I know best,' way. How on earth could trying to force him to stay in his job possibly have helped him more than just staying calm and being there for him could have done?

With the anger of their breakup now fully dissolved, she was able to see that a good portion of the blame that she had heaped squarely at Ron's door in terms of how they had behaved, actually fell to her.

"Ugh," she sighed, vanishing the cake that sat on her desk away, just the sight of which now turned her stomach.

She pulled the proposal for standardised pay for Free Elves back towards her. Maybe she would be better turning down Mafalda's offer and staying in DRCOM. After all, if she couldn't even help her own boyfriend when he had clearly been going through a terrible time, what right did she have to make decisions for the entire wizarding community.

She kept her head down and managed to finish the proposal by 6 o clock and was just stretching out her aching shoulders and congratulating herself on pulling some sense from the garbled document before midnight when she realised that Harry and Ginny were due for dinner at seven. She quickly locked the document away in her desk, threw on her cloak and ran full pelt for the floo, trying to remember recipes that could be cooked in five minutes flat.

She was just climbing out of the fireplace, trying to remember if the heels of cheese left in the fridge were still fresh enough to make fondue, when she noticed an appealing scent of cooking that instantly made her stomach growl in appreciation.

"What's this?" she asked, curling her arms around Ron's waist as she stood behind him at the stove, resting the plane of her cheek between his shoulder blades.

He twisted around to face her and dropped a kiss onto her forehead, and even as she smiled at the pinny he had donned to protect himself from the food, she squeezed him tightly, enjoying the feeling of being welcomed home so sweetly. It was amazing to think that only a few weeks had passed since that mad rush to the hospital for Ginny – her and Ron were getting on so well that it was like they had never had those wasted years where they couldn't stand each other. Of course they bickered but neither of them would have it any other way.

Ron pointed at the bubbling pans on the hob with the wooden spoon he was holding, "The shop was quiet today and I could tell I was just getting under Verity's feet so I decided to finish early. S'not much," he told her self-consciously, "Just some soup, and that one's pasta sauce. I got the recipes out of the book mum gave you for Christmas. They'll probably be awful and we'll have to get a takeaway."

"Well, considering as I had completely forgotten, and we'd have had to get a takeaway anyway, this is a distinct improvement. Besides, it smells delicious. I could get used to this."

"Well I reckon I could get used to being a house husband if you want to keep me in the manner I'm accustomed."

"I think I just want to see what you've got under that pinny of yours."

Ron pulled her towards him, his eyes trained on her lips in a way that made her stomach flip over, "Keep talking that way, witch, and you might just get your wish," he murmured.

She was just stretching up on tiptoes to close the gap between them when they heard a scuffle coming from the fire place and they jumped apart, both looking strangely guilty as Ginny and Harry tumbled through, one after the other.

As Ginny and Harry busied themselves with removing their cloaks and handing over bottles of wine to Ron, he nodded his head towards the kitchen cupboard that housed her fertility potions, "Hermione, do you need to…"

Hermione blushed, remembering that their extended shower was the reason she hadn't had time to take her potion that morning. The spark of amusement in Ron's eyes suggested that he was recalling the same thing.

She removed one of the small glass phials and quickly swallowed her fertility potion, her mouth filled with the sweet taste that reminded her of something from childhood that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Not that she was allowed many sugary treats as a child – being the daughter of two dentists definitely had its disadvantages. When she had first taken it, she had assumed a potion she resented taking so much would have a nasty taste but she had come to enjoy the slightly bubbly citric tang to the sweet liquid. Not that it seemed to be having any effect – she had been taking it for a little over a month now and the healer's appointment that they had attended a few days earlier had proven that she still wasn't pregnant.

In celebration of this, she poured herself a large glass of wine from the bottle Ron had just uncorked and clinked it against Harry's and Ron's, as well as Ginny's glass of water as they all seated themselves around the kitchen table.

As Hermione enquired how Ginny's health was, and Harry described in tones of barely contained agitation what had prompted him to build the baby's crib the muggle way, Ron slipped away and served them up bowls of soup that were as delicious as they smelled.

Their conversation drifted from the fact that Neville had told Harry he was thinking about proposing to Hannah Abbott, which was met with much jubilation, to the development Ron had made using Peruvian Darkness powder in intruder alarms to confuse anyone who set one off, to Ministry gossip.

"And she was just gone, just handed in her resignation just like that!" Hermione had just finished recounting the story of how she had discovered Amy Jones had left her job without telling her. She had omitted the reason she had been seeking her out in the first place, for some reason. She didn't want everyone to make a fuss when she hadn't decided whether she actually wanted to take the job.

"Do you think Avery forced her to leave or something?" Ron asked, "I thought all that pureblood snobbery about not actually having a job was dying out? Especially now so many of the old vaults at Gringotts have been emptied."

Ginny nodded in agreement, "All frittered away on solicitors bills, trying to get Death Eaters out of Azkaban. Either that or seized by the Ministry."

"I don't know!" Hermione shrugged in frustration, "She didn't seem like she was being controlled by him when I spoke to her before – she said he didn't even seem that interested in her. It just seems so fishy to me. She barely more than disliked the man, she certainly didn't seem like she was going to give up her job to go and be a society wife for him."

Harry looked at her gravely, steepling his fingers on the table, "You think it's something to do with the marriage law, don't you. That she's been forced into something?"

Hermione nodded slowly, unsure of how to voice the nebulous fears that prickled the back of her neck. She couldn't pinpoint what she thought was going on, she just felt like something was.

"I'd just sooner get it sorted. And then if she wants to stay married to him, spend her life shopping for gowns and attending charity events, then good for her. I'd just be happier knowing she was doing it of her own free will," she growled a little under her breath, running her hands through her hair, "I think I've gone through the law backwards, forwards, every which way you can imagine. I could probably recite the thing to you. But I can't find any loopholes – the thing's watertight."

Harry grinned at her and reached over to pat her arm, "Well don't worry, we'll figure a way round it, even if we do have to go a bit…Scooby Doo, on the Ministry's arse."

Ignoring Ron and Ginny's exchange of puzzled glances at the muggle reference, Hermione frowned, "I don't suppose you could visit your girlfriend in Personnel again, to get Amy's address? I fancy paying her a visit."

"Vera? She'd love to see me again! And perhaps I'll see if I can get hold of Dung, he might be able to tell us if there's any rumours going around the grubbier areas of Knockturn Alley. Was there anything useful in Hazeldene's personnel file"

"You mean a great big notice signed by him, confessing to being a death eater? No," she sighed, "It's funny, it's almost empty. It's got some references listed for when he started working at the Ministry but bugger all else. Then all that's in there is his training records and copies of his ID. It's like it's been wiped clean. Either that or he is the most boring individual you've ever come across."

"That's disappointing. Everett in investigations owes me a favour – I covered the midnight shift for him last week. I'll ask him to see what he can find out about him. Whether he falls on the dark or the light, that sort of thing."

"Ahh, the midnight shift, I don't miss that," Ron sighed with mock fondness.

"Is there nothing about the job you miss?" Harry asked, looking at him curiously.

"Well, I miss the excitement, and going out catching the bad guys. And I miss the cakes – the auror department always had the best cakes."

"What is it Harry?" Hermione asked sharply, watching Harry, as he in turn, watched Ron.

"We went on a raid the other day and my two best officers got injured. It was a bit embarrassing really – they both fired a stunning spell at the same guy, he ducked, and they hit each other. It's like they weren't listening to a word when I went over not standing in the cross fire of another Auror in the training sessions."

"I guess being the chosen one just isn't worth what it used to be," Ron quipped unsympathetically.

Harry refused to acknowledge the comment, other than to take his glasses off and polish them on his jumper, a sure sign of irritation in him, "It would all be very well but now they're on desk duty for three months, standard procedure after receiving spell damage, even if it is from a fellow Auror. Which leaves me in a bit of a bind because I was planning on taking the next couple of months off work to be with Ginny and the new baby, if it ever decides to make an appearance," he glanced at his wife's large stomach – Ginny was now full term but showing no signs of going into labour. He drummed his fingers on the table a couple of times and Hermione sensed he was just about to go into his pitch, "So I was wondering how you fancied a job for a few months? You wouldn't have to sign back onto the Ministry payroll, it could be as a consultancy role – temporary head of the Auror Department? What do you say? Truth is, I've been a bit lazy with my paper work," he had the decency to look a bit guilty at this, "It might do the place a bit of good to have a shake up. And you've always been a better strategist than me – you'd be just the person to see what's needed."

Other than a quick intake of breath, Hermione forced herself to remain impassive. As much as she wanted to curse Harry for setting the kneazle amongst the owls when things had finally started going really well for her and Ron, she knew she couldn't get involved. The revelation she had made that morning was enough to keep her silent as Ron sipped his wine slowly, his brows knitted together in thought.

"I don't know…" he began slowly, glancing at Hermione for a moment. She wondered if he was hoping she'd say no, or that he wanted her support but she kept her mouth resolutely closed, her expression friendly but neutral. It had to be his decision.

Harry seemed to get the hint that he needed to let the two of them talk about it in private and waved his hands as if to dismiss the atmosphere that had settled over the table, "You don't need to tell me now. Think about it for a few days and let me know. And if not, there's always Wilberforth."

Ron and Harry sniggered, the tension broken as they recalled the hapless trainee who had been amongst the first who had gone through their revolutionised qualification programme. Somehow he managed to combine clumsiness and poor spellcasting with the kind of entitled arrogance that meant no one was too inclined to help him. By the end of the programme, he had ended up in St Mungo's with six extra legs. He had been put right eventually and returned to finish the programme a much humbler man who had go on to make a skilled Auror but had somehow never managed to shake the reputation, or the nickname 'Giant' ("because he's an eight footer", Ron had explained to Hermione when she had met him at an Aurors' Christmas Party).

After that, Ron got out a bottle of Ogdens Old Special Reserve that a client had given him and some rather nice cheese he had picked up in Diagon Alley and Ginny steered the conversation onto the safer subject of the match she had written an article on at the weekend in her new role as occasional Quidditch reporter for the Prophet. Hermione stayed quiet, her mind racing a mile a minute. She knew that whatever Ron decided, she would support him but she couldn't seem too enthusiastic, especially if he accepted, because then that could lead to him wondering if she had rather him be an Auror all this time, as he had accused her of before.

The truth was, she was scared. She hadn't realised how much she had taken for granted the fact that he was away from that world – the world of fighting dark magic, the world of being one Avada away from Game Over. He had gone into it so quickly after the war that she had never really had a chance to resent Kingsley for putting him in more danger, as though he hadn't been through enough, given enough. But she resented Harry now. Just a tiny prickle at the back of her neck. Nothing that wouldn't be easily forgotten. Just enough that doing any more than gloomily swirling the inch of amber liquid around her glass seemed like an effort and her laughter seem tight in her throat at Harry and Ron's terrible jokes.

Eventually Ginny and Harry went home and Ron and Hermione, both seeming subdued, muttered promises about tidying up in the morning and headed to bed in silence.

Hermione quickly changed into her pajamas, cringing at the awkward atmosphere that had descended over them so quickly. Ron slid under the covers after her but after dropping a perfunctory kiss onto her forehead, he turned onto his side to face away from her. Hermione huffed out a light breath of annoyance – she could practically feel him brooding but she didn't know how to help him.

She reached over and rubbed her hand gently up and down his back, her fingertips finding the crinkled skin of the scar that ran the length of his back. She could feel the tension emanating from him but the fact that he had turned away from her made her wonder if he would rather not talk about what Harry had said. She decided to just start talking about something different, knowing that if he wanted to discuss it, he would soon bring the conversation round to the subject.

"You're not the only one who's been offered a new job today. Mafalda Hopkirk called me in to see her – she wants me to take a job as the deputy minister for magical law enforcement."

"Wow!" Ron sounded genuinely thrilled as he flipped over to face her again, propping himself up on his elbow, which made her feel even worse about not being able to be happier for him, "That's great! You're going to say yes I take it?"

"I wanted to see what you thought first, after all, it'd be longer hours, more responsibility. I'd have to bring work home sometimes and attend meetings… "

"Are you trying to think of reasons why you shouldn't do it?"

"No!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"Well that's what it sounds like. You said yourself, you're just hiding in that safe little job of yours and that's not fair."

"Not fair?"

"Not fair to you, not fair to the wizarding world who you are currently denying your brilliance to. If you don't want the stress, then fair enough, although I would start to suspect that you were under an imperius or something because lets face it, you live for stress, but don't think about not taking it because you're worried you'll mess up, or you won't be good enough. Because anyone who can score 112% in an exam aged eleven can never not be good enough for anything."

"Thank you," Hermione sighed, patting his arm as a weight lifted from her chest at his words of encouragement, "And sorry. For before – telling you that you couldn't work with George. Even though I didn't know the full story. I should never have tried to stop you doing something you wanted."

"Blimey Hermione, I thought that was water under the bridge now," Ron scowled in confusion, "What's brought this on?"

Hermione took a deep breath and decided to confront the elephant in the room, "Well…just, Harry's offer. I wanted you to know that whatever you decided, I'd support you."

Ron visibly relaxed in front of her, which made her feel about ten times worse – obviously he'd been worrying about what she thought about it. Still, her past experiences of his insecurity meant that she had to caveat her words.

"If you were to take him up on it, I'd worry, obviously. Constantly. Not because I don't think you're up to it, don't think that. It's just, I don't want you to think that I don't care, because I do. But if you want to do it, I trust you to weigh up the risks yourself. You can be whatever you want to be – not just because I've said it's ok but because you're amazing, Ron Weasley. And if you want to take up Harry's offer, I'd know you were making the right decision, just like if you wanted to carry on working in the shop, or even if you wanted to jack it all in and shovel hippogriff dung, I'd support you any way I could."

"Steady on love," he smiled, gripping her hands, "I appreciate the sentiment but really…dung?"

Hermione giggled, "I didn't say my support would exclude extensive scourgifying at the front door."

"The truth is, I was tempted by Harry's offer. Not just being an auror – head auror in fact, but the chance to make some changes. Well, it's not a chance that you get offered every day. It'd be nice to work in a team again too – it's all been a bit lonely since George left, even with the new staff at the shop," his face fell a little, "I doubt it'd be possible though. Weasleys Wizarding Security couldn't do without me for that long."

"Well perhaps George could come back and cover major meetings, by the sound of it, the New York store is running smoothly now. And I could help out too, if there was anything I could be helpful with? After all, I am a Weasley too," Hermione blushed slightly mentioning her surname.

"Granger-Weasley, and don't you forget it," Ron kissed her on the nose, "And it sounds like you'll have enough on your plate running the Ministry, soon enough. But I'm grateful for the offer and I might just take you up on it. After all, the stock room needs a good tidy up."

Hermione laughed in indignation, although her attempts to bat him on the arms were soon halted by his large hands pulling her close against him and his lips on hers to pick up where they had left off in the shower that morning.


End file.
